


And We're All Stuck in a Depression

by FailureArtist



Series: DepressionStuck [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1930s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Bigotry & Prejudice, Humanstuck, Multi, New York City, Poverty, Religion, alcohol and drug use and abuse, alpha!troll centric, beta!Troll-centric, classical movie references, historical in-jokes, the douchebag is Bing Crosby
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-12
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2017-12-05 03:03:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 29,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/718138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FailureArtist/pseuds/FailureArtist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sixteen young people live and love in the difficult world of early-30s New York.</p><p>(First chapter is just an extended foreword.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Extended Author's Foreward

Welcome to my alternate universe fanfic. It is part of the AU sub-genre “fanfiction that could be original stories”. There is no game, the troll species does not exist, and the characters live in a time and place very different from the USA in 2009/2013. However, I decided to set out writing a fanfic so I could make MSPA in-jokes. If that means European-American characters have Persian or Indian names, so be it. You can close your eyes and imagine them with names that actually make sense.

The cast is very diverse. I have attempted to make a conversion of troll castes to human castes. It’s not a perfect conversion, since human hierarchies have more variables than the singular troll hierarchy.  The placement of “lowblood” characters into certain human groupings should not be taken as an insult to that group. I am only saying that group has experienced prejudice like lowbloods do in troll society.  

There is a lot of bigotry in this story. Racist, anti-Semitic, nationalist, classist, ablest, sexist, and homophobic terms is used. People were assholes back then and they didn’t use the terminology we do now. If you are bothered by reading bigoted language, you shouldn’t read this.

There will also be sexual content because I cannot write anything without sex. People will talk about sex. They will also have it, though usually between scene changes. None of the characters are under-aged.

I’m not yet sure how much violence will be in this, though it’s already going to be Mature just for the language use.

I have done a lot of research for this fanfic, but it is likely there will be facts I get wrong. There will also be facts I’ll ignore for the sake of the story. Don’t cite this fanfic for any history paper.

Certain phrases had different meanings back then. “To make love” meant being romantic towards someone. “High” or “stoned” meant someone was drunk. Making love and getting high will mean flirting and drinking, except in cases where it doesn’t.

Historical references will be explained on this fanfic’s Ask Blog, [DepressionStuck](http://depressionstuckfic.tumblr.com/). For now, I will tell you about Walter Winchell. New York City’s Walter Winchell was a famous newspaper columnist, radio host, and sometime movie star who started off writing Broadway gossip but went to becoming a major political voice. Also, there was some old guy that kept interrupting radio shows called Franklin.

If you have any help to give, please give it. I still need a beta reader. I would like fact-checkers who are familiar with history and New York geography and people who know Yiddish, Russian, German, or French.  Fanart is flattering though I may not use it in the fanfic unless it’s better than what I can draw. [Here is how I draw for reference](http://hysterical-woman.deviantart.com/). That’s not a high hurdle, is it? Related fanfiction must be cleared for canon consistency before it can be published.

Thank you for reading this introduction. You are a very dedicated reader.


	2. Karkat: Arrive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which 5 out of 16 of the main characters are introduced as smoothly as I can. Featuring the triumph return of hoboKat!

_Nearly four years after Black Friday…_

Karkat walks down the street going uptown. He had arrived in New York yesterday with nothing but 50 cents and the clothes on his back. He is out 25 cents now. He exchanged it down at the port for a net full of apples to sell. The apples aren’t even worth the little he paid for them. He was last in a long line of would-be peddlers. It also turns out every corner in the tristate area is reserved for a native peddler. He is beyond the thought of stopping now. His feet are just marching him north past Central Park.

Hawking worthless wares without even a stand to sell them at is not the young man’s dream. He is going to be someone.  People will admire and follow him. The name Karkat Vantas will be remembered for all the right reasons. He doesn’t know how he’ll do this or even what he’ll do, but he knows he has to be big or he will never survive.

He is so caught up in his thoughts he doesn’t notice a deep-voiced woman calling him from a storefront stoop until he is almost past her. Then she shouts out,

“Hey, red boy!”

Karkat turns around immediately, almost dropping his only possession. He sees a black woman wearing a shin-length red cloth coat.

He shouts, “Red boy? What the fuck does that mean? I’m white and I’m not wearing any red! You’re the one wearing the loud red coat.”

“You’re hauling something red on your back!” she says as she looks over her pointy red shades, “What is it?”

He swings the net over his shoulder and looks at her before looking at her. “Apples? I know they’re crappy apples, but they still look like apples. Are you blind or something?”

She taps her red and white cane on the stairs loudly and smirks.

He bows his head and mutters, “Oh fuck, you are blind, Jesus, how am I going to get anywhere in this city if I can’t see things like…” He stops and looks back up at her. “Then how the fuck did you know I’m carrying something red? Is this some bizarre prank you crazy New Yorkers play on outsiders? Like you’re trying to get me to give you some almost-free apples for free out of pity?”

“There are degrees of blindness, stupid. I can see colors if nothing else. I’m what you might call…legally blind. Hahahaha!”

“Are you having an inside joke with yourself? Christ. So, if all you can see is color, why wear red shades? Isn’t that given yourself yet another handicap?”

“If all I’m going to see is blobs, I might as well just see red blobs instead of endless gray, don’t you think?”

“No, that’s still stupid.”

“You don’t think they look sharp? Doesn’t that make it worth it?” she says coyly.

“I suppose,” he says with outward reluctance, while inside he wonders where she snatched such Hollywood-glamour glasses.

“I suppose I like your apples. Give me the reddest one!”

He looks at the net. “The reddest one in this bunch isn’t even fucking red.”

“I’ll take it anyway.”

He opens the net and fishes for a decent apple. He walks over and hands it up to her. Her red glove touches his cold hands and it feels intimate to him. She puts the apple in her coat pocket. He’s glad she didn’t bite into it. She puts her hand in her other pocket and takes out a coin that she immediately flips in her hand. She then tosses the coin over to him. The coin is a full 25¢.

“Lady, you just accidentally gave me a quarter,” he says.

“I know. Even the blind can feel that.”

He feels the coin. “Hey, this quarter has a huge gauge in it...” He turns it over. “…and it’s double-headed! Why would you give a fucking lemon for a shitty apple?”

“Give me back my lucky coin and you can come inside.”

He hands it over without any reluctance, though he is unsure if he wants to come in.

“A lucky coin would be one you could actually spend if the shit went down,” he mutters.

She opens the door and they walk into the foyer. To the left is an open doorway to parlor and in front of them is a door that says “Private”. The woman takes off her red gloves, revealing her teal nails, and places them in a basket on a shelf over a row of hooks. She quickly unbuttons her long red coat and puts it on a hook by its odd-looking hood that looks sort of like a creature. Underneath the coat is a teal and gold dress made of an Art-Deco-nightmare fabric. He is torn between hating the dress and admiring how it hugs to her hourglass figure. She turns to him.

“You can take off that gray jacket that probably used to be another color,” she says.

Something comes to Karkat. “Wait, are you allowed to bring in random hobos? Is some angry owner going to come in and kick my ass? Because if it’s that way, I want all my clothes on me.”

“Nobody’s going to kick your sweet ass out unless I change my mind. I’m the sole owner.”

“Really? You own this whole place?”

“Colored women can own real estate, last time I checked.”

“I know that. I’m not so fucking ignorant that I haven’t heard of President Lincoln or…the guy who said women could own property, umm, Susan B. Anthony.”

“I’m the daughter of the late Thurgood Pyrope written on the storefront window.” She holds out her hand. “Miss Terezi Pyrope.”

He is too embarrassed to shake hands with someone with a manicure, so he nods. “Karkat Vantas,” he says.

“Hmm. Kind of a generic name.”

“Well sorry, I’ll give you a better name the next time you ask.”

“Let’s sit down in a front parlor and you can name names.”

She walks and he follows into the room on their left. It looks like it was once a waiting room to the closed “Thurgood Pyrope” office on the right. The room has severe-looking chairs but it lacks a receptionist desk. In the middle of the room is a low-table with a flowery tablecloth.

“Sit down and I’ll go get you some food,” she says, “You’ll talk better on a full stomach.”

“Should I come with you to help? I don’t want to wait here while you bang around the kitchen.”

“You just want to help yourself to more food, don’t you? Come on, I’ve lived here since I was 15. I can get around.”

She leaves and after a moment Karkat sits down with his back to the window sign. He notices he walls are covered with faded wallpaper squares, but there is a one large painting across from him. It’s a bizarre mess Karkat assumes is avant guarde.

Terezi comes back in with a chicken-salad sandwich and a glass of cherry soda. She gives it to Karkat and he immediately starts eating it. He has never had chicken salad and he enjoys it though he feels if he wasn’t hungry he’d be disgusted by this mayonnaise mush with the awkward parts of the chicken.

When he’s done with the sandwich, Terezi asks, “Tell, Mr. Vantas, where did you come from? I know you’re not from here.”

“How do you know that? I could be a native. Maybe I come from Fifth Avenue but I’m down on my luck?”

“Don’t lie. I can smell that you aren’t a New Yorker.”

“You can smell it? Do New Yorkers have a special scent? This place may smell like smog and shit-filled river water but that’s not anything special. Boston probably smells the same, just with more lobster.”

“My smell is a special sense that goes beyond those of normal sighted people. It’s my Gift.”

“You’re saying you have super-natural powers in your nose? That’s fucking creepy.”

“But it is true that you aren’t from around here.”

He sighs. “Yes, you’re right, I’m from Oklahoma. But you probably figured that out because I’m acting like a dazed-stupid yokel and not because you can smell anything than my general rank of poverty.”

She taps her nose. “My nose is just part of my detective work. So, we’re getting somewhere. Why did you leave Oklahoma?”

“Have you been to Oklahoma? The better question is ‘why would anyone stay in Oklahoma?’ It’s the most godawful place. It’s Texas’ garbage burning pit. The place is just dry prairies that are getting drier everyday. I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole state just blew away someday.” He takes a drink of soda and finishes with, “Anyone who wants to be someone should leave it.”

“And you chose our Big Apple to be someone.”

“Sorry, sister, you were second choice. I wanted to go to Los Angeles, but I suck at map reading, so when I got to Indiana, another shithole, I decided I might as well go to New York. Hey, Los Angeles might have Hollywood, but New York has everything else.”

“What part of New York are you planning on using?”

 “What part? I’m going to use any part of this fucking town I can get. But last night I realized New York has no warmth, and by that I mean temperature, not temperament, though it doesn’t get points there either.  If I was in southern California, I could be camping out under palm trees.”

“You can camp out here.”

“What’s the catch?”

“Too proud for charity? That’s good. If you want to eat, you should work. That’s only just!”

“Thanks for the sermon, now what sort of work are you talking about?”

“Being so alone without a husband or any family,” she says like a Southern belle and her voice goes deeper, “I need a man around the house.”

Karkat pauses his gulp of soda. He wonders if she is really suggesting what he thinks. He has heard other hobo men tell stories of lonely housewives and farmers’ daughters taking them in for a little sexual companionship. He never believed them, because what decent woman would go for a guy who hasn’t bathed in years instead of a clean-shaven delivery boy or traveling salesman, and those soapsops don’t get laid either. Yet the way she had been smiling all this time made him wonder.

 She frowns. “I know what you’re thinking and it’s not that, though I find your dirty mind a bit flattering.”

He swallows his soda.

“No,” she continues, “I need a handyman and someone to lift heavy things and do other stuff around the house. I’m in the landlady business and it won’t do to have my money-maker fall around me. I’m not running another slum!”

“I can fix things. I have studied electronics,” he says, though he leaves out whether he’s good at it.

“I’ll also need someone who can read non-Braille books to me. Publishers don’t put out enough Braille books for some stupid reason and I miss out on the really juicy books.” She adjusts her glasses. “I have glasses that help me read, but they give me a damn headache.”       

“You looked for a random hobo for that? How do you know I can read, did you smell the scent of books on me?”

“You can’t read? You sounded so smart.”

“ Yes I can fucking read. I’ve read more books than you’ve accidentally dropped on your foot. I’m a damn great autodidact.”

“It’s pronounced auto-di-dact, not auto-did-act.”

“It is? Well I didn’t have any teachers to tell me that. They were all getting pregnant from the 18 year-old 8th graders. I should get points for even knowing that word!”

“Guess I’ll also get to enjoy your novel pronunciations.”

There is a knock on the front door. Karkat stiffens as Terezi goes to open the door. He worries about who it might be.

“Hey, Officer Strider on the beat, ma’am,” says a man from the foyer, “I’m here to requisition your apple juice.”

“Hi Dave!” she answers.

Karkat stands up and looks at the foyer. He sees the man is a blond police officer in intimidating all-concealing shades. As scared as Karkat is, he doesn’t hide from the cop but instead confronts his host.

“A fucking bull!” he says, “You brought in a fucking bull into the china shop that is my life!  Fine thing to do, luring in the indigent with promises of chicken salad and sex and then call the authorities on them!”

“Whoa whoa,” says this Dave Strider, “I’m not arresting anyone, crazy ranting stranger Terezi brought into her house to eat her mayo.”

“Yeah, Karkat, this policeman is square with me. He only walks around Harlem requisitioning apple juice from people,” Terezi says.

“Don’t sell me short, I do more than that, doll,” Dave replies, “I have actually made honest-to-god arrests, just not for being poor, or for drinking mature apple juice if you’re holding, or for whatever other bullshit crime you’re committing that everyone else commits.”

“Keenkid here has a disrespect for the law,” Terezi says to Karkat, “but he’s on my side where JUSTICE is concerned.” 

“Go justice,” Dave says to Terezi and then turns to Karkat, “ ‘m name’s Dave Strider. What’s your name, so I can put it down in my invisible book of people I’m not going to arrest no matter how paranoid they are?”

“Karkat Vantas,” he says reluctantly.

“You two shake hands!” Terezi commands.

Karkat has to do all the work shaking Dave’s hand because Dave can’t be bothered.

“Is apple juice going to be a thing?” Dave asks Terezi.

 “Yes,” says Terezi, “Just sit down in the front parlor. Want more soda, Karkat?”

“No,” he says while not breaking eye contact with Dave.

“Then I can have more red soda for myself! Sit down in the parlor. Go ahead and talk about me while I’m gone!”

Terezi goes through the open door at the end of the foyer. Karkat has a feeling that Dave is looking at Terezi’s ass while she walks away. Karkat resists the temptation.

Dave jerks his head toward the front parlor.

“Come on, listen to the lady,” he says as he strolls in.

Karkat almost feels like not going in just because this bastard copper told him to, but he figures that would be a pointless rebellion. He’s not going to stand around in the foyer.

Karkat takes his old seat. Dave sprawls out on the sofa across from him like Karkat was dying to see his crotch.

“So, how’d you meet Miss Pyrope? Were you planning on robbing her of her rare jewels but she came home and you swept her off her feet?”

“No I wasn’t! I don’t know anything about any rare jewelry!”

 “Hey, man, I don’t know either. You just don’t ask a lady how rare their jewels are. Some fellows say they can tell by the way the lady walks when she’s decked out whether she has the real goods but they’re just lying and who the fuck cares anyway? That neurotic worrying is just for straight-laced insurance actuaries who miss sucking on their mom’s necklace.”

“What…are you asking if I plan to commit a robbery or a sex crime?”

“That’s your dirty mind saying I’m talking about sex. Maybe you are a sex criminal? You get off on pearl necklaces?”

“Is this what you do to everyone you arrest? Subject them to nonsensical sexual innuendos? You need a captive audience for your vaudeville routines?”

“Never arrested Terezi and she still listen to me.”

“You must be threatening to arrest her! That’s the only reason I can see for your friendship. White policemen don’t make friends with anyone who doesn’t have ghastly pale skin. They can barely make friends with other cops.”

“I’m an honorary black man, along with being an honorary Irishmen. Ireland and Africa adopted me, but Africa got the custody after the divorce.”

“I must have been real fucking hard on you coming over on that slave ship. No, strike that, it must have been hard on your fellow damned having to hear your endless prattle.”

 “Nah, I had Terezi on the same ship as me. We got our amusement in each other. Never a dull moment.”

“And now you make strange comments about your host!”

“She said we should talk about her.”

“Well we shouldn’t!”

“Let’s talk about you then. Seriously, what are you here for?”

“To find work, and I’ve already found it as a handyman to one Terezi Pyrope.”

“How’d you met her? In a soiree down in the hobo jungle?”

“I sold her an apple, which I did not steal but bought honestly.”

“Come here far for work?”

“You can tell too? Yeah, so I came all the way from Oklahoma to New York, who cares.”

“Hmmm. I’m from Texas.”

“In case you’re about to talk about how Texas is better than Oklahoma because the women have longer legs and the steer have bigger dicks, I don’t give a fuck about my home state or any rivalry.”

“Hey, I’m not saying anything, fellow.”

“So, you know my name, my home state, my occupation, and you’re sitting in my address. I have nothing else to say.”    

Half-a-minute later, Terezi comes back in with a glass of apple juice. Dave downs it quick.

“Damn that’s good AJ,” he says, “I was really getting thirsty jamming with your new friend, Terezi.”

“Glad you got acquainted,” she says.

Dave stands up.

“I think I’ll leave you two to be handyman and landlady. Top o’ the fucking afternoon to y’all.”

He hands the glass to Terezi, tips his cap, and leaves.

Karkat says to Terezi, “So, that’s what I have to expect here? Policemen coming in at all hours to raid the icebox?”

“One, it’s only one policeman,” she says, “You’ll find he’s fun. Didn’t you enjoy your conversation on pearl necklaces?”

“You were listening? Did you run out for a glass, use it to listen at the door, and run back out to fill it?”

“You weren’t silent enough for me to bother. It’s little known but you do have the right to be silent with an officer.”

Karkat sighs. “That back there was actually the best damn conversation I have ever had with a bull of any species, rented by the hour or government-salaried.”

“That’s why I keep him on the take.”

“So, what’s my salary going to be? Tell me it’s green money, not red soda.”

“Yes, you get $25 a month with free room and board.”

“$25 a month? That’s…”

“833/10 cents a day for a thirty-day month.”

“I could have figured that out! But that’s less than a dollar a day and this is the big expensive city!”

“I said free room and board, board being defined as one meal a day.”

“That’s what board means? Never knew that. But still, I thought wages were bigger in the big city. ”

“You are going to take the job, I know it.”

“Of course I am! I know the damn financial situation in this country. But a worker is entitled to a little pre-employment grumbling!”

“You can negotiate later. For now I’ll write up an agreement.”

She gets up and walked into the office. Karkat follows. The many shelves are full of ink-written law books but Braille books are piled on the floor. On the desk is a strange typewriter.

“Hold on,” he says, “Write?”

“This is a special Braille typewriter,” she says as she sits down at the desk.

“So you are writing a contract only you can read. That’s not fair!”

She looks at him witheringly. “Normal-sighted people can learn Braille. My father did.”

Karkat sits down across from the desk while Terezi goes over the rules: no smoking in room unless the tobacco smells good, no liquor unless shared with landlady, curfew at whatever time landlady goes to sleep, no radio after eleven, no Amos n’ Andy, clean up after cooking, never cook cabbage, etc. etc., Terezi rules all.

After Karkat signs the contract, Terezi says, “Now let’s get you cleaned and dressed to live under a roof such as my own!”

“Dressed in what, exactly?”

“Most of my father’s clothes are still here and probably one of my many male cousins has left something here over the years. We can get an outfit.”

Terezi opens a hidden door Karkat had not seen before that leads out the back of the office. They enter a hallway going left-to-right. In front of them behind two sets of double-doors is the kitchen-slash-dinning room. Karkat peeks in the windows. There is a white, blue-green, and steel collection of appliances in there. He tries to look for the tub before remembering rich people don’t take baths in the kitchen but have special rooms for that. Terezi takes Karkat to the staircase a door down from the kitchen. Right above the kitchen is the bathroom.  

When Terezi opens the door to the bathroom Karkat just stares. The sight before him is a white and wintergreen vision of hygiene and efficiency from a Sears & Roebuck catalog. He doesn’t move, so Terezi pushes him in.

“Go on in, it’s perfectly fine!” she says, “It doesn’t need that much of a scrubbing.”

She moves past him right to the bathtub and kneels on the special carpet for bathroom use. The bathtub isn’t even a tub but an alcove designed right into the architecture. She puts in the stopper and turns on the facet. Clean water comes pouring out. She tests the water with her hand until she is satisfied. She goes over to the mirror above the sink and pulls it open, revealing a cabinet. She takes out a bar of ivory soap and a bottle. The toiletries go on the edge of tub. With these practiced actions done, she turns to Karkat.

“Time for your bath!” she says, “Get in!”

Karkat says nothing for a few seconds, but then he says, “Are you going to stand there and watch me? Because you may be blind but…”

“Yeah, I’m blind, so it’s okay! I won’t be able to even see where your genitals are. You’ll be perfectly smooth!”

He groaned at what he hoped was an accidental insult to his manhood.

“No, you being blind don’t change a damn thing! I’ve never bathed in front of anyone who didn’t have the same set of equipment as me.”

“What, your mother didn’t scrub you as a child? What a shame. Never knowing how good a nice scrubbing is.”

“Of course I fucking got by someone scrubbed as a child! I know what bathing is. I can fucking bath myself.”

“I’ll love smelling the results.”

Karkat sighs and like he wants to prove right there what he knows about hygiene he takes off his coat. Terezi just walks right past him like she hadn’t been arguing to stay and closes the door behind her. Karkat looks at the door for awhile, expecting her to barge back in any moment, but she doesn’t.

He turns to the tub and finds it is getting full. He messes around with the facets until he manages to turn it off. He gets undressed and gets into the tub. The water immediately darkens. Karkat groans and takes the bar of white soap and dirties it like the water. He doesn’t use the bottle. It has a homemade Braille label pasted on it and like hell he’s going to pour some unknown substances on himself. He uses the bar of soap to clean his wild hair. When he figures he’s done the best he can with one bathtub and one bar, he gets out. He sees himself in the mirror on the door and finds a little satisfaction in his skin not being as dark anymore. He looks at his filthy clothes and he can’t bear to put them back on. However, he doesn’t have any other clothes yet. His addled-brained hostess had forgotten that in her hurry to see him naked! He wraps a big towel around him and stomps out. He calls out into the hall.

“Hey, where’s the clothes you promised me? Do I have to buy them off of you? Because if I do, I’m going to just walk around naked.”

 Terezi comes out the door at the end of the hallway. Karkat suddenly gets his modesty back. He feels even more embarrassed when another young woman comes out the door to look. He ducks back into the bathroom and shuts the door. When he is calmed down, he is startled by a knock on the door.

“Got your free clothes out here,” Terezi says from the other side.

Karkat opens the door and snatches the clothes from her. He finds that they are just a white shirt, brown trousers, and a belt. No underwear, no shoes and socks. He puts them on. The shirt is too tight and the pants are too big. It is only the belt that keeps his pants up. He walks out of the room feeling only mildly dressed.

In the hallway is Terezi next to the young woman he saw earlier.

“I guess it’s time you meet your first tenant,” Terezi says.             

The young woman next to her is small and the long shin-length coat she wears makes her look smaller. Underneath is a shorter dress that sits right on the kneecap. Her clothes are all in green-and-brown earth tones except for a bright blue cloche on her head. The green brings out her red-brown hair and reddish freckles. She looks at him with intense curiosity.

Terezi continues, “This is Nepeta Leijon and yes, I do know she’s white.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to lecture you on the usual racial dynamic between owner and renter here,” Karkat replies, “I’m not interested in such things.”

“Nepeta, this is the guy I was telling you about,” Terezi says.

Nepeta’s eyes are sparkling. “Are you a real hobo? What is hobo society like? Do you all get along? What are hobo girls like?”

“Be careful what you tell her,” Terezi says, “She’s a professional gossip.”

Nepeta huffs, “I’m a society repurrter!”

“Society meaning silly rich people with nothing better to do.”

“Come on, I’m interested in everyone’s love life! So, tell me, what about hobo girls?”

Karkat replies, “I know they existed under heavy men’s clothes and that’s fucking all. I never got a hobo girlfriend because I wasn’t going to be tied to another hobo. Enough questions of hoboism. That goddamn portion of my life is over for-fucking-ever.”

“Oh, that’s sad! Not you not being a hobo, I mean the not wanting to be with someone. You must be very lonely.”

“I’m not…”

The loud report of radio static comes from above. It’s followed by frantic radio cruising.

“Oh, that’s the second tenant!” Terezi says, “Come with me while I give him some head drubbings.”

Karkat sighs, “I have a feeling I won’t be lonely for a long time.”

Terezi grabs her cane like she is seriously going to head drub him and marches up the stairs and Karkat follows right behind her to avoid his own head drubbing. Terezi marches up to a closed room facing the front street and swings open the door. The sounds of a radio spills out.

“Hey, you’re supposed to knock when you enter my room!” says a lisping man inside over the static.

 “Why not? It’s my room,” the landlady replies.

The room of disputed ownership is wide but not very deep. It is filled mostly with tables and only a small bed. The tables are filled with radios and electronic parts. The walls are covered schematics that for some reason drawn in red and blue instead of black and grey.  His bed also has red and blue sheets. On the large desk by the window is a radio that appears to be the source of the problem. The man turns it off and spins his chair to the door.

This tenant is a skinny young man who from his slouch also seems to be tall. He is dressed in a white shirt with no tie and his sleeves rolled up. His hair is cut in a dull bowl cut but on his eyes are colorful glasses. One lens is red and the other blue. Karkat wonders where these Northeasterners are getting such sunglasses. He thought such glamour was reserved for California.     

“What the fuck is it?” he asks.

Terezi answers, “Haven’t I told you not to play your radio so loud that all of Harlem can hear? Breaking the rules! That means head drubbings!”

 “Come on, it’s not like I’m waking anyone up. It’s the middle of the day! Everyone’s awake and shouting across the street at whoever they see! Even I’m awake and I have a night job.”

“Doesn’t matter! You are earning more head drubbings!”

“You and your head drubbings. Not like you’d ever carry it out because your insufferable friend might come out of his keenkid trance to arrest you, so you just cackle on.”

“Hehehe, just you wait. He’ll see my side as just when the time comes. Anyway, now that I’ve gotten you to turn down the noise, I want to introduce you to someone.”

The tenant sees that there is a person behind Terezi. He quickly swivels his chair around.

“Sorry!” he says, “Can’t introduce me now! I’m not allowing it. You’ve already embarrassed me enough in front of a stranger. Go introduce NP. She loves meeting people. 

“She’s already been introduced,” Terezi says, “It’s your turn. You can’t avoid it forever! He’ll be here a long time.”

Sollux sighs and swivels around in his chair.

Terezi steps back and shows Karkat. “Karkat Vantas, meet Sollux Captor. He’s my second tenant! Sollux, this is our new handyman.”

Sollux stops looking grumpy and smirks. “Me? I’m a radio technician at a station that is pretty important, sort of.”

“And he’s Chinese!” gleefully says Nepeta, who had sneaked behind them.

“Yes, I’m Chinese. That’s a really important part of my character. Being related to some people from an exotic shithole I’ve never been to is more important than working my ass off to make sure whatever comes out of people’s radios can actually be heard. Come on, I’m not even full Chinese. I’m more Greek than Chinese.”

 “Well, I think the tale of your past is romeowtic,” she says disappointedly.

“Red-blue,” says Terezi to Sollux as she holds out her hand, “Us colored people got to stick together.”

Sollux looks at her hand. “Do I really count as colored? Nobody calls Orientals that.”

“I’m calling you colored! Yellow is a color! Come on, don’t leave me hanging!”

“Do I have to do this in front of a stranger?”

“Yes, you do.”

Sollux reluctantly slaps hands with Terezi instead of shaking. He turns to Karkat.

“Special handshake,” he says, “Don’t ask.”         

“My mom invented it,” Terezi says.

“So, you’re supposed to be our handyman? Are you as apeshit bananas at electronics as me? TZ, why the fuck am I not the handyman here? I can deal with the electronics better.”

“Because if I gave you control of the wiring you’d just divert all the power to your room! Roosevelt isn't building a dam here you know! Plus, I need someone to do that heavy lifting.”

“Swell, he can take that job. I can’t lift for shit. I leave that stuff for chumps.”

Karkat yells, “Then how the hell did you get that car battery in here? Magic?”

Everyone looked at him.

“Well, I haven’t said anything in a long time. It felt awkward.”

“Well, Terezi’s mysterious new adoption, you can rattle off all you want later. I’ve got shit to do. Bye.”

“Sure hope I get something to say later.”

Sollux spins around as Karkat and Terezi leave the room. She turns to Karkat.

“What do you think?” she asks.

“As obnoxious as he is, he is still way better than Strider. He gets points for hating Strider. Any other tenants to meet? I want to know what other bastard I might run into.”

“Nope, that’s it.”

Nepeta has picked up a brown-patched animal from the stairs. It’s amazing she can hold it given that it’s almost a quarter of her size.

“One more tenant,” she cries, “Meet Pounce de Leon!”

“Is that a damn raccoon?!” Karkat yells.

“He’s a maine coon, but that just means he’s a cat! I brought him here from Meowtana!”

“Good thing your landlady can’t see well enough to know that can’t be a cat.”

“It is a cat,” the landlady says, “It meows, plus it has a litter box. Speaking of where the litter box is, you’re going to live down in the basement.”

“Why in the basement?” He holds out his hands. “There are tons of rooms in this place!”

“Because those rooms are for the tenants. You’ll go down to the basement floor but don’t worry, you can work your way up.”

“I’m a tenant and I think you can sleep with me!” Nepeta says, “I mean, you can sleep on the same floor as me. Ummm…I mean it’s fine whatever Terezi chooses.”

Nepeta puts down the cat and runs off to her room. The cat runs over to Karkat and starts rubbing his leg.

“Argggh!” Karkat cries, “Monstrous mountain ‘coon!”

“You’ll have to get used to what is most assuredly a cat. You can start by never ever calling him that,” Terezi says, “Come on, we’re going to the basement. You might want to get your boots out from the bathroom before you go down. I’ve never seen what’s on the floor! Hahaha!”

Karkat does go to the bathroom and put on his boots without his socks. During his trip he thought he would never get to take his boots and socks off again and now he doesn’t think he could get the socks back on even if he wanted.

The way to the basement from the first floor is an easy-to-ignore door to the right of the main staircase. Behind the door is a steep metal staircase. There is a less disturbing entrance that leads right outside to the stairs under the storefront.

The basement is unfinished concrete. It is divided into two rooms by an open wall. On one side is for storage. The other one, next to the outer entrance, is set up as a bedroom. There is a cot and a table with a lamp and an empty trunk. Karkat wonders why it’s already set up this way.

Karkat is allowed to rest for awhile while Terezi cooks dinner. After dinner, he’ll have to clean. As he lies on the cot looking at the blank ceiling, he hears it start to rain. He smiles. There is nothing like being in a safe dry place when it rains.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, Oklahoma, but it's in-character for an ambitious and grumpy young man like Karkat to hate his rural homestate.


	3. Aradia: Remember your forgotten man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aradia visits Tavros and avoids Damara

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Anachronistic Communism and bad Yiddish

Aradia fixes herself in the mirror of the narrow bathroom. She puts her black midback-length hair up into a bun and covers her hair in a maroon kerchief. Even though she doesn’t need to worry about getting her hair caught in the machines, she still feels the need to do this every morning. Perhaps it is the call of her Ancestors coming through despite her irreverence. More likely, it’s because she wants to keep up appearances even though she has nowhere she has to be.

Her mother sits in the other room on one of the two murphy beds (Aradia’s is already put away this morning) smoking a cigar. Unlike her daughter, who is dressed in American, albeit unfashionable, clothing, she wears an outfit from the shetl, or more like an outfit from a brothel in the shetl. Her red peasant blouse is heavily embroidered and low-cut. She covers her head in both a red wig and a blue-and-gold-bordered kerchief. Her feet are bare. She’s an incogitable sight.

She calls out to her daughter in heavily-accented Yiddish, “איר מאַכן זיך שיין. ווי פיל איז דיין קונה פּייינג פֿאַר די טוך?”

Aradia turns to her mother and sighs, “I’m not visiting a john, I’m visiting a friend.”

“איז דער נאָמען פון דעם מענטש "לעאן טראָצקי"  ? ער וועט זייַן אַ שנעל אַרבעט   פונקט שטעקן אַ ייַז קלייַבן אין אים און ער וועט גיין אַוועק.”

“What? Leon Trotsky? No, I’m visiting Tavros. Tavros Nitram? You know him, right?”

“איך וויסן אים. איר וויסן אים  ביבליקאַללי. איר האָבן שטעלן זייַן קראַטשיז אַרויף זייַן באַט.”

“Don’t make fun of his handicap, especially in such a crude way.”

“וואָס איז פאַלש? זיין כאַנדיקאַפּ איז גוט. זיין לעגס זענען לאָם אָבער זייַן פּעניס איז גלייַך. דאס איז אמת. גיין און געפֿינען דעם אויס.”

“I will never ask him about that. It’s his business if he wants to tell me about those issues. And no, I’m not too prudish to discuss it with him if the time comes.”

“דו זאלסט נישט רעדן. נאָר האָבן געשלעכט. ער וועט זייַן די גאנץ ליבהאָבער. ער קען נישט לויפן אַוועק.”

“Why does everything have to be sex with you?”

“די קומענדיק יאָרן זענען פול פון גרויל. אָרעמקייַט און מלחמה. דער בלויז גליק איז געשלעכט. ליבע טוט נישט ברענגען גליק.”

Aradia groans, “You are just stuck in a depression, aren’t you?”

Her mother doesn’t respond. Aradia assumes this means the conversation is over. She goes over to the door but as she passes the bed her mother grabs her skirt.

“דו זאלסט ניט זאָגן אים 'Happy Days Are Here Again'. וואָס איז אַ ליגן.”

Aradia pulls her skirt out of her mother’s grip and rushes to the door. She grabs her coat and bag from the hook and goes out the door. She pauses a moment to look in at her mother. Her mother’s cigar is finished and she is rolling a cigarette to replace it. Aradia knows she must be really depressed if she’s bringing out her special green tobacco. Aradia leaves her anyway.

It is hard for them to spend time together in that small three-room apartment. When Aradia was first laid off, she tried to spend her new free time with her lonely mother. Her mother resented this intrusion into the bubble she had created for herself. It took only two days for Aradia to give up and start spending as much time as possible out of the apartment. She goes to public places and people-watches or she visits friends, like she is now. She also does a little work helping to bring about the Revolution.

She walks to Tavros’ apartment. It’s a bit of a hike but she can’t spend money on streetcars or subways frivolously.

Tavros’ apartment building is smaller than her enormous tenement. His is more like a long-occupancy hotel. His room is right on the first floor. Aradia knocks and Tavros says shouts out the door’s open. It’s always open. She opens the door to a room that could be called a suite by an optimist. It is just one room separated by a thin wall. Behind a curtain in what would be a doorway is the bedroom. The front section serves as a living room, dining room, and clandestine kitchen. There is a bookcase against the wall filled to the brim with used books. Below the window is the sideboard where the hotplate is hidden. In the middle of the room is a small table that can be collapsed. Tavros sits at it on a small chair that faces the door. He sits uncomfortably not just because of his size and his bad legs. He has been waiting for Aradia but he doesn’t look happy at her arrival.

Aradia says, “Oh good, I knew Wednesday was your day off but I wasn’t sure if you would be home.”

Tavros says, “I’m afraid to say, I’m going to be home a lot, from now on, due to my losing my job.”

She sits down across from him. “You lost your job?”

“Well, how long could I be expected to keep a job as an elevator operator, given I can’t stand up on my own very long?”

“I thought you could work the elevator on a stool?”

“Not well enough, I guess.”

“That’s a shame. But we’ll find a job for you! You’re clever and friendly and you can move better with your crutches than people think. You can practically run!”

He looks over at his crutches and smiles. “I have been using them, for fifteen years,” he says and then his smile fades, “which is a good portion of my life, like half, now that I think about how old I am. Wow, that’s depressing.”

“You aren’t that old. There are many years in front of you. You have time on your side.”

“I feel like I haven’t gotten enough time, out of the time I’ve had, if that makes sense. I spent too much of my time stuck in that hospital, and now I’ve spent the rest of my time, here, not doing much.”

“You have done something important. You spent your time fighting in a world-changing quest.”

“Time? It was a very small portion of time. If you don’t count the training or the journey to France, just the time I spent in battle, it was like, five minutes?”

“The smallest amount of time can still be important. Life often comes down to a few minutes. Just a small second can make the difference between life and death. The slightest move of an assassin’s hand changes the direction of world politics.”

“That’s scary, to think about such things.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I should really remember that people find things scary that I don’t. I’ll stop talking about time and death.”

“No, it’s good for you to talk about subjects that interest you. I wouldn’t want you to say I couldn’t talk about subjects that interest me, just because they don’t interest you.”

“We can still leave the philosophical discussion till later. How are you getting along without a job?”

“I still have income from my disability pension, even though I’ve noticed it’s been less lately, and I don’t know why.”

“Blame the president. He’s been cutting benefits for veterans!”

“Oh no! I like Franklin Roosevelt, since he has a few problems walking, just as I do, but I can’t like him, if he does stuff like cut benefits.”

“I know. Sometimes I think he’s a really good man who will fix our broken country, but other times I think he’s just like all those other bluebloods and he won’t help us and I hate him. It can be so hard flip-flopping between those two emotions.”

“Aren’t you supposed to think he’s a social, uhh, fascist, if that’s the term you use?”

“Personally, I think that’s a silly term. With all the fascists around these days, why should we make him one too? We may be fighting each other now but I think soon we’ll join together to fight the fascists. There’s no reason we have to be two teams.”

“I like the idea of the joining together of people like you, as in the Party, and people like me, as in people who don’t like fascists but find the Party kind of weird and intimidating and, uhh, wrong, though I don’t know about the, uhh, fighting.”

“I don’t mean violence. At least not necessarily violence. We’ll try other ways, until they don’t work, so then we’ll have a big war.”

“Why do you sound so, uhh, cheerful about every outcome?”

Aradia shrugs. “Just am.”

“So, any outcome on the job front?”

She loses her smile. “Still haven’t found a job after three months. None of my old job’s competitors are hiring. Most of the competitors are out-of-business too. I can’t work in an office because I can’t type. Restaurants want experience. And, this is embarrassing, I even tried getting a job at a taxi dancing hall but they said I’m too tall! Can you imagine that?”

“Well, you are five feet nine.”

She says through gritted teeth, “Five feet eight and ¾. Anyway, why should it matter how tall I am? There is nothing wrong with a man dancing with someone taller than him.”

“Would you have really danced with strangers, if you were hired, for money? Because that seems creepy, like...”

“Like prostitution?”

“What, uhh, no, I’d never say that, because I wouldn’t say you’re a prostitute, and the job probably isn’t that bad.”

“No, it is a lousy job. I’m not going to go for jobs like that anymore. I’m not that desperate.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“Honestly, I really wish I could be an archeologist. That would be real swell. I could learn more about stuff like how empires are destroyed.”

“Uhh, Aradia? You’re being creepy again?”

“Sorry. So what would your dream job be?”

“Oh, wow, if I could really have my dream job, it would be to be a knight on horseback!”

“Um, a knight? Are you sure?”

“Yes, I know knights did mean things to peasants, like you say in the history books, but maybe I’d just enter jousting tournaments and not actually go out killing people who, uhh, shouldn’t be killed? Plus I could kill dragons, which do not exist but they do exist in the dream world of this dream job.”

“As long as you promise not to kill any Jews or Arabs I’ll allow you to have any sort of mythical beast in your world.”

“Deal.”

“Speaking of which, want to play cards?”

They play cards for two hours, though talking about non-card subjects takes up their attention. Then, Tavros makes tea off his hot plate and serves some tea biscuits from a tin.

After the table is cleared, Tavros say with a huge smile, “With you here, I can believe that happy days are here again.” He starts singing, “Happy days are here again…”

“Happy days are here again,” Aradia continues and they sing the song.  
“Huh,” say Tavros when they are done, “I never noticed that.”

“What?”

“You have a swell singing voice. Maybe you should get a job singing?”

“Just because I can sing some silly Tin Pan Alley song? That’s sweet of you, Tavros, but I think I need more than that to be a professional singer.”

“What makes a professional singer is people pay you to be a singer, so anyone who can get paid to sing is a professional singer. Uhh, if that makes sense? Just something that came to me.”

“It might make more sense to me than it does to you, oddly enough. That is a thought.”

“What is?”

Aradia picks up her bag. “I should really do some job searching. Hopefully next time I see you we’ll both have jobs!”

“Thanks, I hope so too!”

When Aradia starts walking down the streets again, she feels guilty about leaving Tavros. She could have stayed with him all day after all. It wasn’t like she can do much job searching by walking around. There are more Closed signs than Help Wanted signs in the windows. She wonders if she should visit her friend Sollux, but he’s all the way in Harlem. She starts walking uptown anyway.

Suddenly, the wind blows a newspaper page right in her face. She takes it off her face and sees it’s part of a classified section. One of the ads is circled in dark red but it also has the words “never mind” next to it also in dark red. The ad just says “Skia Café: Singer Wanted Auditions 12-5” and the address and number of some place in midtown. This has to be a sign, Aradia thinks. She must audition there.

She has a dress she can use for it. It isn’t her dowdy Sabbath dress. This is a dress she thought she’d never wear. She just bought it on a lark at a pawn shop and she’d never converted it back to money even with all the bad days. Perhaps it will pay off for her now?

She heads back to her apartment. Her mother thankfully is out this time. She sometimes goes out and propositions gentile men in her hard-to-understand Yiddish. Possibly that is how she gets the pin money for the tobacco. Aradia would rather not know. She is focused on how she’s going to get money for the both of them. She puts on the dress and puts down her hair. Her mother has some makeup and Aradia uses it in very small portions. With these quick preparations she leaves for the address. It’s all worth a try, she thinks. At least it’s better than taxi dancing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is what Damara is supposed to be saying: http://pastebin.com/jZEXsKjq  
> or what she would be saying if I wasn't using googleTranslate.
> 
> 5/31: I gave Aradia an inch and the ad an actual time. Will I do little edits like this again? I hope not.


	4. Rose and Kanaya: Hire a singer for your not-a-speakeasy-anymore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose gains the upper hand over her mother and Aradia is on her way to being a Canon Sue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: religion-bashing.

It is late Wednesday afternoon and in two nights the former Lalonde’s will reopen as a perfectly legal place of entertainment called Skia Café. There have been many changes. The club takes up the entire basement now. The new bar has been chosen for its fashionable contour design rather than the utilitarian need to stash contraband. Most striking, the ceiling has been painted to look like the daytime sky and the walls are painted gold. At one of the still-basic-black round tables sit co-owners Rose Lalonde and Kanaya Maryam. At the new and in-tune piano playing a random medley of tunes is friend and freelance pianist John Egbert. They are waiting for the next singer to audition.

Kanaya says, “You would think in the middle of such times of scarce employment more people would jump to the opportunity we have presented.”

“I am afraid we did not present the opportunity in the best way,” Rose replies as she snubs out a cigarette, “As dear a friend Miss Leijon is, her employer’s newspaper was not the best vehicle for our message.”

“That newspaper’s very existence is a conundrum. I do not know what its readership can be.”

John pipes in while still playing, “It must have some readership. We’ve gotten three different singers come in today!”

“If you can call those people ‘singers’,” Rose says.

“Yeah, you are right, they were total dogs, but at least we’ve gotten some people and we’ll get more. It’s only 4:20!”

“I hope you are right, John.”

Then in through the backrooms door strolls in a tall young curly-haired white man in a floor-length raccoon-fur coat over a pin-strip grey suit with a large passion-purple wooden cross around his neck. Despite his flamboyant appearance it is unlikely he is here to get a job as an entertainer. He walks over to the group.

“Oh no, Makara,” Kanaya mutters under her breath, “Why have we not changed the locks?”

He throws open his arms. “Sisters!” he says, “and brother!” he adds after seeing John, “Got some good news for y’all.”

John stops playing and turns his head. Rose asks sweetly, “What is it, Gamzee?”

“I’m Born Again!”

John plays a chord. “ _Again_?”

“Eeyup. Saw my girl Sister Aimee at the Capitol and I got put back right where I belong.”

Rose says, “Though I do not share even one of your Pentecostal beliefs I do respect your embrace of an awesome power beyond our keen.”

“Yeah, and now that I’ve gotten myself back into embracin’ the Prince of Peace there is shit I can’t be holdin’ in my arms. Ladies, sorry to say, but you won’t be gettin’ no more of my magic potions.”

“Magic potions?” John asks, “Is that alcohol or drugs?”

“Them shits was the finest quality medicinal whiskey what ain’t got no medicine.”

“Oh. Never got medicinal whiskey. I always feel worse after drinking whiskey.”

“How noble,” Kanaya says, “Renouncing bootlegging just when there will soon be no need for the profession.”

“Hey, you never know. Maybe the 21st Amendment with get itself torn up into a little miracle blizzard of white paper? Who knows what those motherfuckers in Congress will do? Besides, there’s always that hillybilly shit I could peddle. But I ain’t gonna. It’s against my motherfuckin’ religion now.”

“I must say your theology confuses me,” Rose asks, “Why wasn’t it against your religion before?”

“Because it supplemented his already enormous allowance so he could afford more pennies in the collection plate,” Kanaya mutters.

Gamzee answers, “My thinkin’ was I was just helpin’ them drugstores out. Like your motherfucker, for instance.”

 “This is a drugstore?” John asks.

“We had musings of getting such licensing,” Rose explains, “But it seems the law would not classify a business with live entertainment and a cover charge as a drugstore.”

Gamzee continues, “But my magic potions don’t do nothin’ ‘bout healthin’ up motherfuckers. They didn’t even got that fuckin’ science bullshit. Fact is, all you need for healthin’ is Jesus, and also orange juice what’s got soda.”

Rose says, “As a barista I have heard orange juice suspended in Russian water is a good cure for an ill mood.”

“See?” says Gamzee, “Orange drank is gonna be a thing. So think ‘bout it while I’m sayin’ bye, my motherfuckin’ sisters and brother.”

He twirls around and walks to the door he came out of. Kanaya is glad to see him go but she can’t resist saying something else.

“Will you still avail yourself to the temptation of heroin while abstaining from alcohol?”

Gamzee pauses his step and turns around.

“Eeyup,” he answers.

He leaves with Kanaya not gaining any further insight into the mystery that is Gamzee.

Rose scolds Kanaya, “Why are you so rude to him? He has always been a good and fair procurer.”

“Did you not witness his self-righteousness? He baptizes himself at Coney Island and goes to a tent revival once a month and he thinks that makes him holier than us.”

“While he looks down on our business partnership he has never looked down on our personal partnership.”

“His lack of hypocrisy in that one area does not move me. I still do not like him.” 

“You usually aren’t that judgmental. You are friendly with customers I find terrible. Why is it different with him? What sort of subconscious push does he hold over you?”

“Hmmm, maybe you’re carrying a torch for him?” John asks.

“I wouldn’t put it that way but…” Rose smirks. “Maybe it is an erotic drive?”

“No! No I don’t and you know my psyche well enough to know I am not oriented that way. It’s just…” Kanaya sighs. “Fuck that guy.”

“Cheer up, at least you won’t ever see him again!” John says.

“If we are losing someone I’d like to acquire someone new to work for us.”

Aradia knocks on the customers’ door at just the right time. It is Rose who answers the door. She slides open the eyeslot and Aradia finds herself looking into the most beautiful blue eyes she has ever seen. She could swear they were actually violet. It is very intimidating.

“Yes, you are here for the audition, am I not right? Otherwise your evening gown is far too early,” the violet-eyed woman says.

Aradia bravely answers, “Yes, I’m the singer you’re looking for.”

“We’ll see and hear that. Let me open the door and keep in mind it was not meant to be easily opened.”

 The violet-eyed woman opens the door and Aradia sees how the rest of her looks. She is pale with blonde hair bobbed at the chin. She wears a mauve suit over a collar-less blouse. Aradia finds that other than her eyes she’s rather plain and she has to admit this makes her feel a little bit more comfortable.

“My name is Miss Rose Lalonde and I am the proprietress of this re-opened establishment,” she says, “Please come with me.”

The proprietress leads her through the surprisingly-wide foyer past a coat-check window to another door that leads to the main hall. Aradia is struck by the brilliant blue and gold after the earth-tones of the previous room.  She has never been in a real drinking establishment. The few times she’s drank it’s been at rent parties held in cheap apartments. She wonders if all speakeasies looked like this.

At a table placed in the middle of the dance floor is another woman. If her greeter’s eyes made Aradia feel outclassed than everything about this woman makes her feel overwhelmed. The woman wears a gorgeous jade silk dress with angel sleeves and her glossy black hair is styled into an elaborate wave. Her skin glows with light olive tones. She looks like she could be a model. She gives Aradia a judging look. 

“This is my partner, Miss Kanaya Maryam,” Rose says, “She shall sit in on this audition and help me make my decision.”

Rose then gestures over to a young white man sitting at an upright piano. He has big glasses and buckteeth and wears knickerbockers, so he looks pretty goofy. His face isn’t entirely friendly. He also has a judging look and he even looks a bit irritated. 

“And the man at the piano is Mr. John Egbert. He will be your accompanist for this audition.”

Rose sits down next to her partner and takes up a clipboard from next to the filled ashtray. Both she and her partner look up at Aradia.

Kanaya looks especially intensely at this new woman.  Though this woman has lovely hair, it is her clothing that to which Kanaya pays special attention. This auditioner came to the audition in a full evening gown and an odd-looking one at that. It is made of a metallic blue-grey fabric. The shoulders are big and padded. Along the lines of the bodice are three metal bits on both sides that look like bolts. On her ample left breast is a blue heart. As unique as it is, Kanaya has seen a picture of it before.

“Name?” Rose asks the woman in the evening gown.

“Miss Aradia Megido,” she answers.

“You are applying for a job as a singer?”

“Yes.”

“What was your last position?”

“I worked on the floor of Atropos Textiles.”

“Do you have any previous experience as a performer?”

Aradia says without shame, “I have no professional experience, but I have done amateur performances for my club.”

“What’s the name of your club?”

“The Jewish-American Worker’s Culture and Mutual Aid Society of New York City.”

Kanaya says, “That sounds like a worthy social cause.”

Aradia hopes she doesn’t realize it’s a Communist front.

Rose says, “So you have performed in front of an audience at least.”

It is more like Aradia has helped in a sing-song. Her job was to sing the first verse and get everyone to sing the rest. It is public singing, at least? She answers yes.

Rose says, “I wish we could truly test your skills with a larger audience than two sober and polite ladies, but for now you will just have to imagine an audience of workmen in tuxedos. Did you bring your own selection?”

Aradia opens up her sack. Kanaya notes that it is not a designer sack. Aradia takes out a sheet of paper from a brand-new folder and goes to hand it to Rose.

“Give it to John over there, not me. I’m not the one with the instrument,” Rose says.

Aradia withdraws it with embarrassment. She looks over at the stage. John’s piano is next to a quartet-sized round stage in the corner backed by a royal blue curtain. After giving John her selection she stands right in front of the stage as if it would be presumptuous to take her place on it before getting the job.  Yet then she turns on her performing face.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to Club Skia! My name is Aradia Megido and I’m going to sing some songs for you. This crazy décor makes me think of a song about blue skies and golden dreams. It’s called “Pennies From Heaven”. Hey, John, play this one like a ballad? Thanks!”

John starts playing the intro to the song and Aradia hops in right on cue.

 

“Oh every time it rains it rains,

Pennies from heaven.

Don't you know each cloud contains,

Pennies from heaven?

You'll find your fortune fallin'

All over town.

Be sure that your umbrella

Is upside down.

Trade them for a package of

Sunshine and flowers.

If you want the things you love

You must have showers.

So when you hear it thunder

Don't run under a tree.

There'll be pennies from heaven

For you and me.”

 

As the song comes to a close, Aradia gives a little bow. John claps but the owners keep their proper distance and don’t clap.

“Could you give us a moment?” Rose asks, “Just as you pretended there was an audience, please now pretend you cannot hear this colloquy.”

Rose and Kanaya turn to each other and hide their mouths with their hands.

“May you offer your surmise?” Rose asks Kanaya.

“I think she has a most melodious voice.”

“I find her voice only acceptable and acceptable is not enough.”

“She does bring great charisma in addition to any singing skill, mediocre or not.”

“I found her speech corny and the song choice grating.”

“Yes, it is not my cup of tea, but surely this establishment will choose her repertory when we use her as our house performer.”

“I would like to see if she can handle the dark songs we will be choosing.”

“Have you already decided Friday night’s concert?”

“I do have one idea.”

Rose turns back to Aradia.

“Miss Megido? We have a question for you.”

Aradia perks up. “Yes?”

“Do you know “I Don’t Stand a Ghost of a Chance”?”

Aradia twitches from mishearing but straightens up. “If you gave me the music I could do it.”

Rose picks up an elegant black leather portfolio and takes out two sheets. She gives one to Aradia and one to John.

Aradia, despite her lack of any formal music education, is not lying when she says she knows how to read music. She taught herself. She didn’t learn out of any great interest in music but because she loves learning codes. It was easier learning how to read musical notes than Egyptian hieroglyphics or Sumerian cuneiform, if only because she could actually find someone who can read music in her tenement.

She studies the sheet before she lets John play it, and she sings the song without trouble.

When she’s done, Rose looks as impressed as she can look.

“That was a better performance,” she says, “I noticed your singing voice this time was lower than your conversational tone.”

“Yeah, it’s funny but that singing voice feels more natural than my normal singing voice,” Aradia says.

“I have heard of that phenomenon. I knew a vocal student who spoke in a tenor but sang in a baritone.”

John says, “I knew a vaudeville fellow who spoke bass but sang soprano. Of course, he did huff helium with the balloon artist backstage.”

“Thank you for coming in to audition. We will contact you by Thursday evening if you have received the position. What is your telephone address?”

“Oh, I don’t have a telephone.”

“How did you expect us to contact you after the audition?”

“I expected you’d just straight out tell me if I had the job or not.”

Rose sighs. “You really never have been to an audition.”

Kanaya helpfully adds, “You could always give us the number of a friend who possesses the utility of a telephone.”

Sollux is the only one of Aradia’s close friends who lives with a phone, yet she can’t guarantee anyone in that crazy boarding house would answer the phone. She instead gives the number of a drugstore with an obliging owner.             

Rose responds, “Thank you. We have no more questions so if you could…”

“I have a question,” Kanaya says, “Where did you obtain that unique evening gown?”

Aradia pulls on the fabric. “I got it at a pawn shop. Is there something wrong with it?”

John says, “Kanaya! Don’t tell her her dress is ugly!”

“Pardon if it sounds like what John suggested, but I was asking because it appears to be a certain rare Schiaparelli made to order for a debutante in 1929 before she started her evening wear line,” Kanaya says.

Rose says, “Now it sounds like you are asking if she obtained the dress by means of which you disapprove.”

“I know from my own searches throughout the area that these days it is easy to find the effects of our diminished upper class in our pawn shops.”

“Huh,” says Aradia, “I just liked that I could finally find something that looked good on

 a busty woman. Schiaparelli, wow, I never heard them but they sound swell.”

“Personally I prefer the graceful lines of Vionnet but there is much to be said about this newly-arrived couturier.”   

“I do not see the point of this line of conversation,” Rose whispers to Kanaya.

“I am getting another one of my ideas, my dear partner,” she whispers back

“Like your ideas to design the new décor from the visions of a weird and eerie reoccurring dream?”

“You have said it looks better than your own imaginings of the plan. My idea is not about the property but about the personnel. Our new singer will have a new persona.”

“Isn’t it too early to plan how to mold our singer when we have not one in our hands?”

“We are going to choose this singer and we all know it.”

“We will? My. Then let’s tell this everyone about the plan.”

Kanaya and Rose get out of their huddle.

“Miss Aradia Megido,” Kanaya begins, “I have a design for a performance persona you could adopt to make your act more intriguing. You could play the archetype of the young lady of wealth whose situation is poor. The dress you bring with you will not just be an off-the-rack wardrobe purchase from a dealer of second-hand goods. Instead it will be a creation made personally for you for the honoring of your formal entrance into womanhood. Yet only months after you entered this new world of adulthood your previous world of wealth was taken from you when your family’s fortune fell without prior notice. Your father took to self-murder in his shame, your mother died from a broken heart, and you were left an orphan. You turned to the only useful skill your traditional feminine education provided you with: your singing. However, your class looks down on making one’s name known on the performing platform. In order to obey your class’s constrictions, you do not display your true identity.”

Rose remarks, “You are employing what you have learned from your voracious reading of sentimental novels to their full extent, aren’t you, fellow alumni?”

“Huh, interesting idea! That could be fun,” Aradia says.

“You think you are up to that?”

 “Sure! I can certainly try. My mama worked at a big house for a year and I learned how the swells – how the upper class act.”

“Let us see some of what this act could be.”

In a different voice, Aradia says, “Do come into Club Skia. I shall be your host, though I can not offer more than my singing. There is little left these days. My first song shall be ‘I Don’t Stand a Ghost of a Chance’.”

“Good, filled with melancholic humors,” Kanaya remarks.

“That’s like something from a movie!” John gushes.

Aradia says to John, “The cinema says nothing about the true realities of life. It does not interest me anymore.”

“…”

“You can put your acting in the metaphorical electronic position of off, Miss Megido,” Kanaya says.

Aradia shakes her head. “Oh, I’m sorry. But what do you think?”

Rose says, “You have supplemented weird elements to Kanaya’s persona. You are lost so you are cold and angry.”

“Do you think that could turn people off?”

“On the contrary, I think it makes you quite alluring.”

“Yeah,” says John, “You could be like Greta Garbo in “Grand Hotel”! Being ‘I VUNT to be alone’ and all that stuff but you help old ladies into elevators so you’re swell after all.”

“No, a little less of that melodrama. That was not her best performance.”

“About this whole melodramatic back story,” Aradia says, “Will I tell people it before each song?”

“Your task is to feed the audience with small hints. Our task is to covertly supply them with more under the illusion of _sub rosa_. Our clients will think they are glimpsing a member of the elite when they see you perform.”  

“But if I was part of the elite, wouldn’t your elite customers recognize me?”

“You could wear a mask?” Kanaya says.

Rose says, “You will not be part of our New York but from some distant place no one cares about…such as Seattle.”

“Hey, I’m from Seattle!” John cries.

“That’s why I chose it. You can tell her about the most elite establishments to serve salmon eyeballs since you are occult to that insider information.”

Aradia says, “It’s actually good I’ll be hiding my identity because I’m a bit embarrassed taking a job like this. I think I wouldn’t get approval from some of my friends.” (some of the Party, she thinks.)

John says, “I feel the same way! I’m always having to tell people I play piano at a brothel for a living. I’m too embarrassed to say I work as a banker.”

Rose finally says, “John, if you are going to make jokes like that you are not allowed to play a riff after each one. In fact you have not refrained from making a riff with every vocalization this afternoon!”

“Aww, come on, I can’t help it when I’m near a piano! I got it playing movie houses back in the day.”

Rose sighs and thinks to herself, _he’s a friend and he plays for free_.

She says, “Anyway, we shall work on all this in tomorrow’s rehearsal.”

 Aradia says, “So I got the job?”

 “Of course you have the position. I am certain all of my compatriots here have made the same decision as I have in turn.”

 Kanaya whispers to Rose, “I thought I was the one who came to that decision first.”

 “No, we all did,” Rose replies to her.

 Aradia asks, “Thank you so much! How much is the job – the gig?”

 Rose and Kanaya discuss it and they come to five dollars a night plus tips. Aradia readily accepts it though her tough labor activist side wants to negotiate. She doesn’t know whether ten dollars a night is good wages or not for this line of work. She doesn’t care frankly. 

  “So,” Rose said, “Arrive here tomorrow at three in the afternoon for rehearsal.”

 “And remember to bring that wonderful dress!” Kanaya says.

 Aradia wonders who they are hiring – her or the dress?

 “I’ll be there right on time and looking swell,” Aradia says, “Bye!”

 She leaves happy if a little apprehensive about her new work. Can she really do this? Go from honest but dull work in a factory to an exciting work on the stage? She can at least try for one night. If it doesn’t work out, it doesn’t work out. She isn’t sure if she should break the news yet.

 She takes the streetcar home and hopes her mother isn’t back at the apartment yet.

 John also bids adieu soon afterwards and the co-owners are left alone in the club. Rose opens her cigarette case and takes the last one out. Kanaya watches her.

 “Is that your twelfth cigarette of this day?” she asks.

 Rose takes a puff and replies, “Why do you ask?”

 Kanaya sighs. “Never mind.” 

 “This has been a time of great nervous stimulation. There has been the renovation of our former space, conniving for new licenses, wooing my cousin Robert down to our country from supplying a Quebecois lumber camp to provide our café French cuisine, hunting down all our former staff members, finding out our entire jazz accompaniment has been incarcerated, and this afternoon hiring an unknown without the interference of a talent middleman. I am entitled to soothe myself with nicotine.”

 “This has been quite the endeavor we’ve undertaken.”

 “It has all been for Dr. Roxanne Sophia Lalonde.” Rose toasts with an imaginary glass.

 “Your mother would be pleased.”

 “I doubt that. I know she put that caveat in her will that I must use some of her monies to build a ‘drinking establishment’ as her last passive-aggressive act. She thought it as a Sisyphean task. I could never create an establishment that was not supposed to exist.”

 “It can exist in your familiar land of origin, Quebec. Maybe that is where she intended it to be? I do not hate the City of New York despite my Bostonian allegiances, but I have always wondered why we are here as opposed to the City of Montreal or even the City of Buffalo.”

 “This is the unwritten location my mother intending this establishment to be, just as when she wrote ‘drinking establishment’ she meant hard drinks despite our solicitors arguing it could mean drinks of the softer sort. She thought we would fail in this environment but we succeeded.”

 “I still do not understand all this. I met your mother many times but it seems she is still a mystery to me.

 “We cannot all have straight-forward mothers like Mrs. Porrim Maryam.”

 Kanaya puts her hand on her hair. “Oh my mother! I remember the day I came home and my hair had been recently bobbed.  Such a lecture! She thinks the fashion for young women wearing the hair styles of boys hurts the cause of feminism. ”

 “At least she never showed her disapproval of your wardrobe by sending it off to charity while you were out.”

 “I always shudder at that story. But our mothers, no matter how poor their judgment, simply want what is best for us. You must believe your mother wanted you to succeed in life.”

 Rose says, “What matters is that I want to succeed in life, not my neurotic mother.”

 Rose finishes her cigarette and when she is done they leave for more errands.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know the song “Pennies from Heaven” came out in 1936. I’m using it as a reference to the 1981 movie of that title. I’ll probably be a bit lax with song dates. I’m planning on using a song from the 70s for another movie reference. 
> 
> Rose and Dave are not related. The Lalonde’s, Strider’s, Egbert’s, and Harley’s are all separate families in this universe.


	5. Equius: Attend this foolish event

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Café Skia holds a re-opening and attendants other than Equius get to have their viewpoint in the narrative even though the title scheme suggests otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Alcohol (duh) and tobacco use, with mentions of hard drugs. Bad mental images of worrying sexual encounters and casual anti-Semitism, all courtesy of Eridan.

Equius arrives at the midtown Club Skia at 8:00 PM sharp at opening time. He doesn’t want to be here. He thinks it is foolish for the upper class to eat in public like common people. If it weren’t for Nepeta’s insistence that he get out more, he’d be spending the evening alone.

There is no line on the stairs to the door. Equius knocks on the heavy door and apparently his anger shows through because instead of the door being opened the eyeslot is opened and angry eyes show back.

“What are ya here for? Youse can’ts just break down the door! It’s against the law!” says the man on the other end.

“Why, sir, I am a guest here! Open up this door!” Equius shouts back.

The bouncer looks up and down Equius and notices he is dressed like a guest in a stiff-front tuxedo and not like a policeman or gangster so the bouncer has nothing to fear. Or he notices this guest could rip off the door and beat him with it.

“Okay, okay,” says the bouncer as he slides the eyeslot back.

When the door is opened it is not by the bouncer but by a pert young woman in a white dress. Ten feet behind her the bouncer sits on a stool sheepishly. Equius could easily beat that man.

The doorlady says, “Welcome to Club Skia, sir! In celebration of our re-opening, our cover charge is only five dollars tonight!”

Equius grunts. He can easily pay the cover charge of course but it feels like adding insult to injury when he doesn’t want to be here in the first place. He gives her the five dollars. She puts it in what could be called her chest pocket and he briefly looks away while she does that.

“I shall expect excellent service from this establishment in exchange for my money,” he says.

“Sure! Don’t worry!” says the doorlady but the bouncer looks unsure.

The doorlady also checks his overcoat. He goes through the foyer into the main room. The gold walls immediately strike his eyes so he pulls out his black glasses. He hates wearing such foolish things especially at night, but he also hates not wearing them.  They have a tiny crack in them but he assumes nobody will notice.

Another woman greets him. She wears a white evening gown and could be called beautiful by Equius except he does not like how short her hair is. He thinks long hair is proper in a woman. Then again, he thinks long hair is proper for men. It is his only non-conservative idea about appearance.

The woman says, “My name is Kanaya Maryam and I suppose you must be Equius Zahhak. I am sorry to not let you introduce yourself but your friend Nepeta Leijon has told us to expect you.”

Despite her apology, he is still offended at her rudeness. He must let it go. She is a friend of Nepeta.

“Yes, I am he. Where may I find Nepeta?”

“She isn’t here yet. Would you like to wait at the bar?”

He looks over at the beautiful but decadent bar. Behind it is a blonde woman in a black dress who sizes him up with strange blue eyes. He turns away.

“Certainly not. Take me to my table.”

“There is no necessity for elaborate assignments of seating locations. You are free to occupy one of our many tables.”

“I shall do that.”

Equius takes a few steps onto the floor before he suddenly sees someone at a table across the room. He is an admittedly handsome white man in pince-nez wearing both an evening cape and an evening shawl. He is bent over a filled beer stein with a sticky brown bottle that doesn’t look to be a beer bottle next to it. Equius recognizes him immediately when he sees the man’s strange ash blond forelock. He did not want to see this gentleman and he doesn’t want this gentleman to see him. Against all hope Equius hopes the gentleman will not notice a 6’3” brick wall right in front of him and Equius can just slide over to the bar…

“Hey, Equ!” calls the gentleman in a nasal German accent.

 _Shoot_ , Equius curses in his mind as he walks over to Eridan Ampora.

“Good evening, Ampora.”

“Good evenin’? Lousy fuckin’ evenin’ for me.  All they serve tonight is low-booze beer because suddenly they’re worried about the law. Come on, sit down next to me and order something.”

Equius obediently takes a chair next to him. He sees now the brown bottle is a sticky substance and not beer.

“Excuse me, sir, would you mind explain the bottle?” he asks.

“Malt syrup. I’m pourin’ it in this swill to make it the real deal.”

“Um, is there not supposed to be some extra step in that experiment than just adding the extract?”

“How would you know? You don’t drink any booze! I’m German, we know our damn beer.”

“I suppose you are right.” 

 “Anyway, I’ve been meanin’ on seein’ ya . I figured your cat-lady girlfriend could rope you in even if you are a teetotalin’ freak and my scientific German brain was right.”

“You came to this obscure establishment and relinquished five dollars because I might be here?”

“That, and I like the joint. The owners are warm on me, just like you always are, brother. But I have business with you.”

“State your business, Ampora.”

“Just like that? Well, my hotel is threatin’ to kick me out.”

“I thought your…friend, Miss Gertrude Weefster took care of such affairs.”

“The spinster dame? No, she dumped me. Totally cut me off.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, sir.”

Eridan looks from side-to-side and then leans closer into Equius. His breath smells like malt.

He whispers, “Okay, I’ll tell you what happened if you have to know. I did _not_ ruin her. It was after a dance at her _family’s_ house and we were havin’ a nightcap in her suite parlor like we do _all the time_ and I gave her a foot massage, because she’d spent all night squeezing her big feet into those tiny shoes, and then I had to massage her big legs because they hurt too and…I was makin’ love to her but I was doin’ it…French style.” He chuckles before getting serious again. “Now it was disgustin’ and effeminate and unpatriotic and all that jazz and I wouldn’t have done it if I weren’t very very drunk. I am ashamed and I don’t want to talk about it but I can tell you, because we are both men of the world, am I right?” He jabs at Equius with his elbow. “And  also because you have no idea what I am talkin’ about and you’re too afraid to talk to anyone else about it, even your gossipy girlfriend. But you can say I did nothin’ to ruin her! She is not in any fuckin’ situation. She enjoyed herself, even if she was a little hysterical afterwards.

“But the next day she’s gone and all I know is she’s in Hot Springs. I’ve tried callin’ and writin’ and telegrammin’ any place I could for a month but zilch. She’s gone from my life and I can’t get her or her money back. And we were goin’ to be married someday!”

“It is quite a shame that…event…you talked about happened, but I am not certain what this has to do with me,” Equius lies. He knows what will happen next and he dreads the inevitability.

“Equ, you’re my friend, aren’t you? And I’m in a bad financial situation? You must help me out. It is your sacred honor to help out an fellow gentleman. It isn’t fuckin’ right a member of the fuckin’ nobility should be kicked out an his damn home and forced to live in the street with the shit-covered peasants. You know who I am.”

Equius begins to sweat as he thought about Eridan’s family background. For Eridan was not simply some foul-mouthed immigrant but was the heir of the Principality of Angilzornland, cruelly deposed when the German Empire fell. He was actual royalty and even Equius with his colonial background felt outclassed by the Ampora’s ancient pedigree.

“I…I will give you some money to tide you over.”

“Swell. Give it to me in cash, though. I don’t want no jewy checks. Who knows when Roosevelt will pull another damn bank holiday?”

Equius takes out his wallet and gives Eridan two twenties and a ten dollar bill.

“Thanks for this bit,” Eridan says as he puts it away, “This and the ring I’ve pawned will help pay for an week.”

He puts a sticky hand on Equius’ back.

“You’re an swell friend, ya know? The only one I have in this city of Jews. We should spend more time together, so you can help me out more.”  

 “If you have no more business with me, please let me alone tonight,” growls Equius.

Eridan takes his hand off Equius.

“Okay, okay! I’ll just hang out at the bar with my other friends. Maybe break this ten? But only an little, the beer is a buck here.”

He walks off drunker than a man who’s only had one 3.2% alcohol beer should be. Equius moves to a different table. It’s bad enough having to worry about having his clothes damaged by his sweat – by his healthy glowing– without also worrying about syrup.

He has already started glowing from dealing with Eridan. Sometimes he feels like that gigolo is making love to him, as absurd as that idea may be. He wonders what making love French style is.

A waitress comes over with a menu.

“Welcome to Café Skia. What’ll ya be havin’ for a starter drink?” she asks.

Equius wants only one drink. “I shall have a tall, frosty glass of milk with a good head.”

“Just milk then? Don’t want us to slip in some rum?”

“Neigh! No alcohol at all.”

“Yeah, that’s swell, we don’t got no rum anyways.”

When she reaches the bar she tells Rose, “Nepeta’s friend wants the Howard Hughes special. Frosty, with a head.”

Rose nods. She knew what he was going to order and she is prepared.

Also at the bar, Eridan talks to Kanaya

“…so, I was moving up her leg…”

“Eridan, what makes you think I want to hear this sordid anecdote?”

“Hey, you gals do it all the time! It shouldn’t be shockin’ to ya. I bet Ros would love this story if she’d listen to me. But really, my point is I went to an area I shouldn’t have gone and it landed me in the gigolo zone. Before I was just an friend she was helpin’ out and maybe she sometimes kiss, as a friend. But I went to that area under the neck. Neckin’s swell, every girl necks, it’s just socializin’ these days, but heavy pettin’? She can’t give money to someone who would make that disgustin’ sacrifice that totally doesn’t ruin her. That makes me a damn gigolo in her eyes, not the fine fuckin’ gentleman I am. I went back to Lutheran services and I didn’t curse as much and her folks loved me, but that’s all gone. If I had kept my virtue I’d have a wife by now.

“Kan, it’s hard. It’s hard being a deposed noble and findin’ a wife. It’s hard and nobody understands.”

Eridan looks up to see Kanaya doesn’t understand, since she has already left to greet another guest. He sighs and downs the rest of his scientific concoction.

Equius receives his drink order and the waitress asks for his food order, but he declines. He does not want to stay at this place longer than needed. The place is starting to fill up and he feels uncomfortable. Just as Equius is about to down his much-needed drink instead of nursing it endlessly, Nepeta comes in.

She is wearing a modest black evening gown. You would think she was an upper-class lady if you didn’t know it was her only evening gown and she got it second-hand. She usually wears a suit to nightclubs. After all, she is on the job. Yet this is a social occasion.

She goes immediately to Equius’ table and sits down.

“Wow, Equius, you really came! I’m so purroud of you!” 

“You should have expected me. I do not commit myself lightly. Where were you?”

“I’m sorry, I had purrblems getting a cab. But now I’m here, so we can have fun!”

“I do feel a little more relaxed now that you are here. Until now, I have had to deal with the company of Mr. Ampora.”

“Oh, that Ampurra! He’s the worst. Sometimes I think he’s trying to pick me up, but then I’m too purr for him.”

“I still would not trust him even he cannot get any money out of you.”

“Yeah, it was a good thing Miss Weefster dumped him. But I wonder why she did it so suddenly after so long? She’s never even hissed a little at him.”

“I think it would be best not to look into matter.”

“Do you know something? Did Ampurra tell you about it?”

“He did, but his story is not…suitable…for a decent lady like yourself. It involves…queerness.”

Nepeta pulls a face. “Oh meow, I don’t want to hear about it anymore. I’ll just say she dumped him because she finally smelled what a rotten fish he is.”

So instead, they talk about many other silly things.

Equius and Nepeta are odd friends. He would have never expected to ever make friends with someone of her class, especially one with her disgraceful job prying into the lives of her betters. Yet one night as he left the opera he found her being threatened by two so-called gentlemen she had tried to interview on her first night on the job. He could not abide any man harming such a small girl so he dispatched them. They became friends after that. He found she was a proper young lady who didn’t drink or smoke, though she does eat a great deal of meat. She found him sweet even though he was very sweaty. She calms him down and he protects her, though sometimes he has to calm her down. They are more than friends, but they aren’t dating. They are something else.

Unfortunately, their time is interrupted. Kanaya comes up to the pair.

“Miss Nepeta?” she says, “There is a telephone call for you.”

Nepeta stands up. “Hold on a minute,” she says to Equius. He nods.

She goes with Kanaya to the hostess’ stand where the telephone is kept. He cannot hear her conversation over even the mild din of the club but he can tell it is something bad. When her phone call is done, she goes immediately back to Equius.

“Oh Equius,” she cries, “Ponce is sick. Terezi knew I’d be worried so she called to tell me that, she’s so nice.”

“An animal is in danger?” Equius said, “You must go to your pet presently.”

“I know, I will, but is it okay if I leave you here?”

“I can manage on my own.”

“You aren’t sore? Swell! Have fun!”

She takes her purse and leaves. Equius doubts he’ll have fun with her gone and Ampora not. However, he feels honorbound to stay, if only because he just ordered a light dinner and it would be rude to waste it.

So he sits around not knowing what to do. Yet then something happens that he hadn’t been expecting. A tall young man comes walking into the club like he owns it. Equius knows him well. He is the scion of the Highblood Detective Agency. The organization is a proud, strong force that has done so much good for the Republic by rooting out Bolshevik strikers. Not only was his mother the granddaughter of the founder, but on the other side he was a member of an old Knickerbocker family. Gamzee Makara was a fine young man. It is a shame there were problems with his father. Among a hundred other problems he has. But Equius is still happy to see him.

The hostess Kanaya, however, is not glad to see him.

“What are you doing here??” she asks.

“It’s your special openin’ and I wanted to get myself into this motherfuckin’ fine décor again to celebrate with you. It’s like the Angelus Temple all up in here, ‘specially that ceiling.” 

“But this is not one of your churches. It’s not even a storefront but a basement. I thought you had quit attending events in such establishments as ours. You don’t belong here.”

“I belong anywhere God belongs and He belongs anywhere he is. Anyways, I paid up the cover charge with something little extra for my sister and brother.”

He gives a wink at the doorlady and to the bouncer.

“Please don’t bribe our employees,” Kanaya says.

Rose says, “It is quite unnecessary for any bribery to take place. You are welcome, Makara. What non-alcoholic alternative can I prepare for you?”

Gamzee goes over to her station. “I’ll have soda in the color red.”

Rose pours some cherry grenadine into a glass. She goes to the soda fount but Gamzee puts up his palm.

“Nope, you gotta have a little more grenadine than that. I’ll be sayin’ when.”

Rose pours more grenadine in. Gamzee doesn’t say “when”.

“Have you falling into a hypnotic trance?”

“Nope. Just haven’t filled up on that grenadine.”

Rose says exasperatedly, “Why don’t I just give you a glass of grenadine?”

“What, and no motherfuckin’ bubbles? I need them.”

Rose fills up the rest of the glass with soda water and gives it to him. As Gamzee sits down, Equius comes over to him.

“Good evening, Mr. Highblood Makara,” he breathes.

“Told ya, I’m just a Makara and most of the time I ain’t even that, just a Gamzee.”

“But Mr. Highblood Makara is the superior title to ‘just Gamzee’. I will always use the superior title for you.”

“That’s swell, Old Man. You can call me whatevers you be likin’.”

Gamzee then notices Eridan down the bar.

“Hey, Dutch!” he calls out.

Eridan snarls, “No, _you’re_ Dutch! _I’m_ German.”

 Gamzee shrugs and starts drinking his soda.

Equius says, “I see you have a soft drink instead of a hard drink. I commend you for that even though I feel you should choose something less sugary and more wholesome like milk.”

Gamzee replies, “Thanks, but I like soda better. Milk is the miracle for the little cow babies in the fields, it’s not natural for us humans. Plus it sometimes smells funny.”

“I’m afraid you are already too far unnatural. I do not like the way you insert into your noble body…vile chemicals! You should stop immediately.”

“My H-dope? That’s motherfucker is kinda medicinal but if you’re orderin’ me, I guess I’ll kick for you.”

 “I? Ordering you? No, sir, it’s merely a recommendation and I am sorry I dare suggested it.”

“Okay, let’s never we mind this whole deal.”

“Oh my, let’s.”

Gamzee takes his glass and leaves for the John’s piano while Equius is paralyzed by his _faux pas_.

Eridan mutters, “If he’s goin’ to fall for a pansy like a common sailor he could at least fall for a pretty one and not one with such a funny face.”

Luckily, Equius does not hear that. He walks back to his table and sits down. He watches Gamzee talk to that common musician and wonders what they could be saying. Gamzee opens his raccoon fur coat and reveals why he didn’t check that barbaric thing. Inside the coat are two ukuleles.

 “No,” Kanaya whispers too loudly, “Not ukuleles! If the Jazz Age had to perished, why couldn’t it have taken those horrid stringed musical instruments with it?!” She turns around. “Rose?”

Rose shrugs. “It is entertainment provided without any expectation of payment. I shall allow it.”

John and Gamzee take the stage with their ukuleles. They proceed to have an epic ukulele duet the likes that has never been seen before. They croon into each other’s faces but they do not kiss because John is not a homosexual.

When they are off the stage, Kanaya says to Rose, “I think we should put on a more appropriate act before we permanently sour the audience.”

“Yes, it is time for a birth.”

Kanaya heads into the backrooms.

Gamzee picks up the glass of soda from the piano and downs it all at once. His drink finished, he gives Rose a whole dollar.

“Thanks for the soda, sister!” he says as he leaves.

Equius watches from across the room. He is sad to see him go. Likely he will never see him at this establishment again.

For that matter, Equius will likely not come to this establishment again either. He made his effort for Nepeta and that is enough. He is uncomfortable here. They offer alcohol even with soft drinks and there is only one vegetarian entrée on the menu. After he has their cheese quiche, he will pay the bill and leave. There is nothing other than his order to keep him here.

And then, the nightclub’s singer comes through the curtains. She is a metal stature in smooth motion. Her natural hair flows down to her mid-back.  Her arms are covered in long grey gloves with black lines around them. Her face is covered in a silver half-mask. The sight of her makes Equius take off his shades.

Out of her strange bluish lips comes a deep but smooth voice. She introduces herself by the name of Blu Steele. It is a foolish name but it strikes something in Equius’ heart. The piano starts playing a slow tune. She starts singing, “I need your love so badly, I love you, oh, so madly. But I don't stand a ghost of a chance with you…” 

Suddenly he doesn’t want to leave. He will always stay in this chair all night and wait all day till the club opens again. All Zahhak Industry’s business will have to be conducted at this midtown location. This will be his chapel and he will pray constantly like a medieval anchorite. His order comes and cools while he watches her.

Aradia watches him as much as she can while maintaining eyesight with the rest of the audience. He is a huge mass of a man and hard to miss. His baggy, bloodshot eyes leer at her constantly. His broken teeth show a little in his grimace. His face is always wet even though he keeps wiping it with a handkerchief. He makes her feel uncomfortable, yet she finds herself singing to him because he seems to be the only one listening.

 Her very first performance ends after an hour.  She bows out to light clapping (Equius was too dazed to clap) and goes through the curtain to the door leading to the backrooms. John leaves too and the radio is turned on to provide a little cheap music.

When Aradia gets to the green room she falls down on the couch and sighs. She survived. She takes off her mask and she is no longer Blu Steele, but just Aradia Megido. John comes in and goes to his coat to take out a pipe and a pouch of tobacco.

“You did a swell job!” he says as he packs the pipe, “Amazing for your first time.”

“Thank you! It was exhilarating, though I feel tired now.”

“I’d give you a cigarette but I prefer pipes. They’re more sophisticated. It’s a great way to relax.”

John then tries to light the pipe.

“Urgghh, damnit, why won’t this stupid thing light? I’m running out of matches!”

“I don’t think I’ll start any nicotine habit anytime soon.”

Equius gets out of his daze and notices his quiche has arrived cold. He would complain to the management but there are bigger things on his mind. He leaves his table and goes around the lightly-occupied dance floor.

At the bar, Rose and Kanaya talk.

“That was wonderful,” Kanaya said.

“Unfortunately, our publicity source missed the performance. We need someone to “let the cat out of the bag”, so to speak.”

Then Equius comes up to them. “Hostess,” he says to Kanaya, “I inquire to know more about tonight’s performance. Tell me about the singer.”

Kanaya says “Her name is Blu Steele, with the ‘e’ carried from the blue and given to the steel.”

“I doubt very much that is her real name. What is her name off the stage?”

Kanaya and Rose give each other conspiratorial looks and then Kanaya motions Equius to come closer.

She whispers, “She would prefer us not to give it in order to save her family back west’s still respected name.”

“If you can tell me without revealing anything, how hallowed is her name?”

“They are, or were, one of the top 100 families of her hometown. I’m afraid I cannot reveal where that hometown is.”

“Thank you for your exposition.  I do not begrudge the lack of detail if it is to protect the privacy of the upper class.”

“You’re welcome.” She winks at Rose.

Equius leaves Kanaya. He feels he knew from the beginning that she wasn’t just a tawdry torch singer. She had something special in her bearing that revealed her true origins. Yet he still doesn’t know if she is fit to associate with. He thinks of buying her a $5 boutonniere from the wandering vender and having it sent to her as an anonymous token of appreciation, but he dismisses the idea. If he is going to do something as undignified as give presents to a torch singer he might as well go grand and give her an arrangement the size of a delivery boy. Not that he’d ever do that, of course.

He goes back to his table to settle his account. When he gets the bill, he doesn’t leave a tip for the waitress since she delivered his order late. He does leave a $5 tip for the singer in the cup on the piano. He uses the phone to call a taxi and goes outside to wait for it. He needs to go out in the somewhat fresher air to clear his head. He must speak to Nepeta about this when they meet again.

Back in the club, Eridan still sits at the bar.

He looks at his malt syrup bottle and  says, “I’m startin’ to think the LaGuardia Formula doesn’t work. Should have expected that from a Jewish politician.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I had a beta, they would probably tell me to have less Eridan and Gamzee in this chapter. And I wouldn’t listen to them.
> 
> It really should bother me more to write such anti-Semitic comments since I’m half-Jewish, but I just find it cute for some reason. I’m sorry if you found it too hard to read even though the comments come from a disagreeable character. 
> 
> It may be overreacting by calling the sex act between Eridan and Miss Weefster “worrying”, but he probably really didn’t discuss what he was doing and she was apparently traumatized by it. However, in case you horny Eridan fans are wondering, he does do a good job at it.
> 
> If anyone would like to videotape them doing that ukulele duet, I will link to it in the fic.


	6. Karkat: Complain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remember Karkat and Terezi? They still exist.

“I have to say, miss, your spelling is fucking terrible. “Man” is not spelled M-A-I-D!”

Karkat stands with his arms crossed and his feet apart and stares daggers at Terezi who stands in the doorway. He’s been cleaning the upstairs bathroom for half an hour and he looks ready to kick the bucket of soapy water.

Terezi replies, “Thank you for the spelling lesson but I already know what your position is. You are here to do work for me.”

“But not this type of shit work! I was supposed to do fixing and mending but you’ve had me scrubbing and washing like I was a maid for a week! Give me some handyman work!”

“I don’t have any handyman work. Is it my fault the house is well-made but tends to get dirty?”

“Even if it’s not handyman work you could find something for me to do that isn’t totally emasculating!”

“Hmmm,” she says and thinks for a moment, “I think I might have a job for you, but you may not like it. It’s something women can do as well as men and sometimes better.”

“Just tell me what it is.”

“I’ve told you it already but it seems you’ve forgotten. I also hired you to be a reading companion.”

“You want me to read for you? That’s actually pretty not lousy. Unless you’ll just have me read a million bills and notices.”

“I have ways of reading those, don’t worry, and you don’t have to worry about those law books other people find boring because the State of New York has decided to publish them in Braille. But there are plenty of books, newspapers, and magazines that aren’t delivered to my finger-eyes. I need you to read them.”

Karkat wonders how she reads those bills and notices. Every little piece of paper she gets she takes into her room. She is a mystery to him.

“Okay, I’d rather read your _Good Housekeeping_ ’s than actually do any housekeeping.”

He washes his hands in the sink and wipes them off before following Terezi out. She opens the door to her room next to the bathroom but Karkat stops.

“Wait, why aren’t we going to the parlor across the hallway?” he asks.

“Why not? I think this room looks nice enough, unless your eyes object.”

“But, it’s a woman’s bedroom! A man isn’t supposed to go into one!”

“Oh, I suppose this isn’t a job for a man if the man can’t be in the same room as a woman without his manly instincts taking over. It’s probably dangerous for such a man to even be under the same roof as a woman.”

“Cut your damn sarcasm. Of fucking course I’m not going to assault you and you aren’t…but the issue is private space!”

 “If I don’t care about you entering my room, why should you?”

“Okay then, if you want to be creepy and invite strangers into your bedroom, that’s fine with me!”

“You aren’t going to be a stranger. You can’t be afraid of one room if you are responsible for the upkeep of all of them?”

“What, so I can wander around the house all day and night looking for shit to fix?”

“You are free to check up on my tenants but keep in mind you can only enter my room with an invitation.”

“Ahh, I’m also going to be your informant then. Don’t expect me to do well on that job. I’m not a fucking stool pigeon.”    

“You squawk enough to be a pigeon! But forget the other residents and come into my room.”

Karkat relents and enters this new room. He had expected something sparse befitting someone who had no use for decoration but it is colorfully decorated. There not only is a multi-color patchwork quilt on the bed but the curtains are made of patchwork cloth. There are no photos anywhere, but there is a small painting Karkat assumes was made by a child. The room is divided into an office and a sleeping area and both sections would be very small if they were on their own.

On the flattop desk is a cloth sheet covering some bumpy object a little bigger than a breadbox. He wonders what is under it. Is it some mechanical device that can help her read? In the corner of the office are two bookshelves. The books on them are thinner than the massive ones down in the main office. Each of them has color tape on the spine. Some have several different color tapes as if the owner couldn’t decide which color she wanted to use.

Terezi goes over to the shelves and pulls out three books without needing to look very hard and places them on the desk. Behind those books is book with a pinkish beige color. She takes it out and places on the desk before replacing the other books. She takes off her red glasses. Karkat has already seen her unshaded eyes before. He was surprised at how normal they looked. The only problem he’s seen with her dark brown eyes is they are a little red rimmed. He had known a blind person back in Oklahoma but the boy’s eyes were ravaged with trachoma. Karkat can’t believe sometimes that Terezi is blind. She takes the sheet off the strange object on the desk and it turns out to be a book holder with a magnifying glass over it. Karkat figures that must be how she reads. He wonders why she is so furtive about this seeing aid when she freely reads Braille books all over the house. She puts the book on the holder, opens it up, and squints through the glass until she finds what she is looking for. She then turns to Karkat.

“Come over here and get this book.”

He walks slowly over to her and takes the book while keeping her finger bookmark intact. She returns her glasses to her face and goes and sits on the bed.

 “Start at ‘It had rained as usual…’,” she orders.     

Karkat takes the chair around to the side of the desk one-handed and sits down with her six feet away.

He begins reading, “It had rained as usual, and the paths were too sodden for Clifford’s chair, but Connie would go out. She went out alone every day now, mostly in the wood, where she was really alone. She saw nobody there.”

He reads on for several more paragraphs.

“She turned the corner of the house and stopped. In the little yard two paces beyond her, the man was washing himself, utterly unaware. He was …naked to the hips? His velveteen breeches slipping down over his slender loins? And…his white slim back was curved over a big bowl of soapy water, in which he ducked his head, shaking his head with a queer, quick little motion, lifting his slender white arms, and pressing the soapy water from his ears, quick, subtle as a weasel? Playing with water, and utterly alone. Connie backed away round the corner of the house, and hurried away to the wood. In spite of herself, she had had a shock. After all…merely a man washing himself…commonplace enough, Heaven knows!”

He puts down the book.

“What is this? I can’t read this out loud here.”

Terezi laughs. “You can’t? It’s not even one of the explicit sex scenes!”

“There are explicit sex scenes in this? Is that even legal?”

“ _Lady Chatterly's Lover_ is legal in Italy.”

“We’re not in Italy.”

“Hey, 1st Amendment! It should be legal and I don’t mean the expunged version.”

“Why couldn’t I read that version?”

“I got this version for a friend. I’m just holding it until I met her.”

He rolls his eyes. That’s what they all say, he thinks.

She continues, “I’m not that interested in romance books anyway, even if they have sex scenes. I prefer crime dramas. I only wanted to see you react to this book.”

He groans. “You just have to keep pushing me.”

“Hey, it’s so easy to push you! You’re so uptight.”

Secretly, she feels a little nervous herself. It isn’t as much having an unrelated man in the room as letting him see her text magnifier. Tactile reading she can do with amazing skill she never expected to have but she only fully relearned how to read visual text four years after her accident. On bad days she still can’t read. She doesn’t like people seeing her struggle in anything.

“Let me get you a novel I really want to read,” she says.

She goes back over to the shelf and looks over her glasses till she finds “The Maltese Falcon”. She turns around to see Karkat engrossed in the _Lady Chatterly’s Lover_ he was so loathed to read before.

“Ahem,” she says, “You can find all the sex scenes for me later.”

Karkat puts down the book. “Oh, yeah, for your ‘friend’.”

Terezi is a little curious about where all the sex scenes are. She’s not good at browsing books. It was really only luck she found that excerpt.

She hands _The Maltese Falcon_ over to Karkat and he puts down the other book. She walks back over to the bed.

“We’re starting at the beginning this time, not mid-chapter like last time, which really should have made you suspicious.”

He finds the page and starts reading cautiously.

“Chapter 1: Spade and Archer. Samuel Spade’s jaw was long and bony…”

She lies back on the bed and enjoys the story.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to my long lost ex-boyfriend, who lost his virginity because of Lady Chatterly’s Lover.
> 
> Terezi suffers from what is called cortical vision impairment, caused by a head injury. I will go more into the details of the accident later. Since her problem happens in the mysterious region of the brain rather than the prosaic eyes, she suffers/enjoys very strange symptoms. She does have synesthesia, but she doesn’t literally “see” through her nose. If she closes her eyes she can’t “smell” anything. This does happen in real life but her synesthesia goes into the fantasy realms. Despite this super-power, she wears color-limiting glasses to cut down on sensory overload and avoid bad smelling colors.


	7. Tavros: Wander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gamzee sees Tavros and ~~cruises him~~ NO THEY HAVE A PERFECTLY INNOCENT MEETING.

When one is hopelessly unemployed, every walk around town must be to look for work. Of course it isn’t easy to go many places when you have to use crutches and leg braces, but Tavros can manage most everywhere if it’s on the ground floor. He’s in Time Square though he doesn’t know what sort of work he can find there, but at least it’s better than being in his little Hell’s Kitchen apartment. He likes to look at the sights even though it makes him look like a tourist and not someone who’s been here almost a decade.  He spends a horrible amount of time just looking at the publicity photos of the pretty showgirls outside the theater. Sometimes he likes to go to stage shows to see them, even though those are becoming increasingly rare due to the Depression.

He isn’t going to catch a matinee today. For one he’s wearing a brown suit instead of his “Sunday Best” black suit. Instead he stands against the wall next to the Times Square Automat and  wonders about getting a job at the waiter-less restaurant where patrons serve themselves from glass compartments after putting in a nickel. Who does he go to in order to ask for a job? He knows there must be a manager around somewhere but he can’t help but imagining the whole place is run by a machine. Aradia doesn’t like the Automat businesses because the vending machines put hard-working servers out of work. He wonders if they still have human cooks and dishwashers.

The place is very beautiful he has to admit, even with the ethical problems Aradia points out. It is an Art Nouveau palace three stories high and four brownstone storefronts wide with stained glass windows and an illuminated marquee with the words “Automat” in playful letters. 

“Joint’s a real miracle, ain’t it?”

Tavros turns his head as well as he can to see a tall young man in a raccoon coat standing next to him.

“Uhh, yeah?” Tavros replies to the stranger, “It is very nice.”

“More than motherfuckin’ nice! ‘mazing that them Horn & Hardart fellows brought together all that money and art and yet all the motherfuckin’ grub’s just a nickel.”

“It does seem like a miracle, when you put it that way.”

 “Hey, let’s go in! I’ll pay.”

The stranger says this as if he had treated him many times during their long friendship, but Tavros takes another meaning to his off-hand remark. He turns his crutches to him and scowls at him.

“No, sir, I am not a beggar. I have money of my own, uhh, that includes many nickels.”

“This ain’t no fuckin’ charity, as fine as charity can be. I’m just payin’ for your company ‘cause I hate eatin’ all by my lonesome.”

“Uhh, and you chose me?”

  “You look like a motherfucker that appreciates the magic of this city. Everyone else just runnin’ by but you stand around gettin’ your look on at this miracle.”

 “I’m not a tourist,” he says a bit too defensively, “I’ve been here, in Manhattan, many years, yet however I like looking at famous sites.”

“Haven’t been seein’ you around,” the stranger says as if they lived in a small place where it could be expected they would run into each other eventually, “What’s yo’ name?”

“Uhhhhhh…”

“Mine’s Gamzee Makara.”

“Oh, then my name is Tavros.”

“Now that we knows each other, let’s motherfuckin’ get in.”

Gamzee strolls into one of the smaller entrances with Tavros and Tavros wonders if he could just walk away now and never see this crazy man again. Yet he hates the idea of blowing off even a stranger when Tavros has been blown off so many times before. Tavros pushes his body against the door and enters.

The inside of the Automat is decorated as highly as the outside. This is no sterile cafeteria. The ceiling has an ivy pattern that climbs up from the center pillar and there are little elfin figures on the pillar. Even though the place is fairly busy Tavros can see Gamzee sitting at a table and waving his hands. Tavros makes his way over.

“Hey, glad you came in! Just get yourself sit in!” Gamzee says.

Sitting down isn’t an easy task for Tavros, especially since he doesn’t have a “good” leg to lean on. Yet he manages to put both crutches in one hand and with one hand on the table lower himself into the armless chair. Gamzee holds the table steady but otherwise doesn’t do much. When Tavros is comfortable seated with his coat off and his crutches at his feet, Gamzee stands up.

“I’ll be gettin’ us both a tray. What you want?” he asks.

“Uhhhhh…uhhhh, how about just some French fries, and I guess also a glass of milk?”

Gamzee nods and leaves. Tavros is glad Gamzee is getting the tray. He can hold things in this hand if he holds his bow crutches tightly in his armpit but he can’t hold things in both hands. He usually just puts everything he needs to carry in the sling he keeps around his neck at all times.

Five minutes later, Gamzee comes back with a full tray. Along with Tavros’ fries and glass of milk are two glasses of strawberry soda, an individual pot pie, a slice of apple pie, and a banana. Gamzee gives Tavros his order.

“You sure you don’t be wantin’ anything else?” he asks.

“No, I’m fine,” Tavros answers.

Gamzee shrugs and then downs an entire glass of soda in 15 seconds as a chaser before getting started on the pot pie.

“Man, this is nice,” he says as he’s half-way in the pie, “I was so motherfuckin’ sore I didn’t get to see my Sister at the Capitol, but now I’m gettin’ to met you!  Let’s start gettin’ to know each other. How long you been here?”

“Uhh, I’ve been here since 1924, that is to say, I stopped off here for two weeks back then, but in 1925 I came back here, to live permanently.”

“I’ve always been settled here. Never really settled anywhere else though I’ve had thoughts about it. Where’d you come from to New York?”

“France.”

“France?”

“In 1924, that is, but in 1925 it was from New Mexico, where I was before I was from France. Uhh, that doesn’t make any sense, sorry.”

“I’m fine with a little nonsense.”

“But what I mean to say is, I was born and raised in New Mexico. Then I was shipped out to France, and when I was done in France, I sailed back to the United States. I had to wait a month in New York City, until my family could pick me up and take me home. When I did go home to the ranch…things didn’t work out…so I came back here.”

Gamzee shakes his head. “Dang, that’s pretty motherfuckin’ lousy that things didn’t work in yo’ Family home. I know how it is with Family.”

Tavros smiles. “But I found a new home, with a new friend, that month in New York City. I had a place to fall back to. Though I could have falling back to France, since I was fluent in French, but France for me just brought up being in the War.”

“You were in the War?”

“Yeah…?”

“Huh, it’s just, you look so motherfuckin’ young.”

“I was, uhh, too young. I was 15, but I told them I was 18. Funny how I looked older than I was back then but now I look younger than I am.”

“Hey, motherfuckers run around these days tryin’ to look like you and they all fail.”

“Thanks, but I can’t imagine people trying to look like me.”

“Motherfuckers want to look like the youth, but I think you should just look like what you look like.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, how old were you, when the War happened?”

“I guess I was 10. Didn’t never pay much attention to world happenin’s. Didn’t pay much attention to nothin’ back then. Kidhood’s just a blur for me, though folks say I was a motherfuckin’ hellion.”

“The War was a blur to me, uhh, even though I was in it. I think that’s a good thing, actually. The ones who remember it too well, are the ones who suffer the most, since they have shell-shock.”

“Yeah, it’s the present and the future that’s got more mattering. You should fuck the past.”

“I wouldn’t put it that way, but I think you are right, that it is good to look to the future.”

“You gotta be havin’ some hope for the future. Always be looking out for that miracle to come home. Sometimes that’s all you able to do.”

 They finish their food. Gamzee polishes off his quickly.

“You busy?” Gamzee asks.

“Actually, I’m looking for a job. Not that I don’t have any money, since I get a small income for my service to the government, but I still need more money, and having a job is good for my self-esteem.”

“Hey, I’m looking for something new too. Used get my sweat on workin’ at a factory for that medicinal whiskey, but it’s been closed down.”

“Oh, that’s too bad.”

“Heck no, that’s for the best! Hooch is the Devil’s Brew what’s for sinners.”

“Uhhh…” Tavros rarely drinks, but when he did drink he was in a Catholic church.

Gamzee continued, “But I get some income too, though it’s for them necessities every motherfuckin’ bear must get.”

“I can’t quite always make ends, uhh, meet, with my money.”

“Yeah, it always seemed like some motherfucker got half my money when I was workin’.”

 “Oh no, I do hope you find some place better, where you aren’t always rolled.”

“Me too. Motherfuckers just ain’t honest these days of days.”

They finish their food.

Gamzee burps and says, “Seems you were the best person to be havin’ lunch with this fine ass day.”

“Uhhh, not to be rude, but didn’t you have a sister you wanted to see?”

“Yeah, Sister Aimee Semple McPherson!”

“She’s your sister?”  

“Brother, she’s everyone’s sister.” Gamzee laughs but then turns to a stranger serious note. “I wanted to get my love for the Sister on at the Capitol Theater, but some motherfuckin’ bastard sinners canceled her sermon while I wasn’t lookin’.” Gamzee lightens again. “But it’s still been a miracle day.”

Tavros feels a little uncomfortable finding his new friend has religion on his mind. He’s always being targeted by religious people who think that because he’s been brought down in the world he’s a good target for their spiels. Tavros already has Roman Catholicism and he can’t keep up with that, so isn’t going to try for a new religion. Yet this new evangelical isn’t actually trying to sell him anything. He’s just telling and Tavros can feel comfortable with that.

“I wish I could have seen her, as well,” he says.

“I beheld her every motherfuckin’ day of her motherfuckin’ first week at the Capitol Theater. I thought she’d have a second week. Been comin’ here a month and I can’t get myself quite believin’ she’s left.”

“Huh? So…uhh…you knew her appearance was cancelled, uhh, when you went to the theater, to see her in a performance?”

“Why not? Every good performer can do themselves an encore.”

They vacate the restaurant.

“Thanks for lunch!” Tavros says as he walks away.

“The motherfuckin’ welcome is yours!” Gamzee replies.

As Tavros walks away, he thinks about how much he said to the stranger. He feels a little ashamed of that, but he did feel a real connection with this Gamzee. He’s only felt that way before when he met Aradia in that settlement house when he lived for a month in the Bowery his first time in the city. When he is a good distance away, he realizes with all the information he gave his new friend, he didn’t provide any way for them to meet again. He supposes he will never see that friendly stranger again.

Tavros feels tired. Without accomplishing much except a free lunch, he walks home.

Unbeknownst to Tavros, Gamzee follows behind him. Gamzee regrets not asking where his new friend lived. That boy is a miracle. He has such a beautiful muscular upper-body, but his mocha face is like a baby’s. Gamzee even sort of likes Tavros’ crutches. Too bad Gamzee isn’t supposed to mess around with the males anymore. He’ll stick to messing around with his females, when he has to mess around, which he won’t.

Tavros still is a great motherfucker to be around. Gamzee likes having friends. That’s why he’s trying to keep this friend around.

It’s not hard to follow the slow-walking boy. He watches Tavros walk into a small apartment building and he notes the address in the handy notebook kept in his raccoon coat. This task finished, he goes to the drugstore and calls his chauffeur, a man he’s nicknamed “Travelin’ Travis”, to ask him to drive him home. While waiting, he orders a root beer float.

On the way to his mansion in New Utrecht, Gamzee gives some serious thought into what business he’ll go into next. He has an income from the Highblood trust fund, but that’s strictly controlled by a maternal uncle who acts as a permanent trustee. The uncle directly pays the bills for upkeep of the Makara-Highblood house, the electricity, the gas, the telephone bill, the servants’ wages, and the property tax. Everything else is Gamzee’s responsibility. That’s how he ended up in the bootlegging business.

Bootlegging wasn’t a great business and that was discounting the fact it was a huge sin. He was telling the truth when he said half his money went to somebody else. Everyone wanted a bribe. Gamzee is going to go into a better business, once the Holy Ghost brings him an idea. Ideas always come to Gamzee. He thinks he has a good future.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Attentive readers might note that the distance between Aradia’s place and Tavros’ place is described as “a bit of a hike” when the Lower East Side and Hell’s Kitchen are three miles away from each other. Well, Aradia is a healthy woman and she doesn’t mind walking more than an hour to save a nickel or two. However, on the trip to her apartment and then to Club Skia she gave in and took public transportation. Yes, she rode in a crowded streetcar wearing an evening gown.


	8. Eridan and Nepeta: Crash Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eridan and Nepeta are just trying to do their jobs, no matter how disreputable those jobs may be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: racism and a tasteless remark about a major religious figure, again courtesy of Eridan.

Eridan stands before a boxy modish mansion. The mansion is the Gold Coast residence of Mrs. Margaret Rittenhouse. He is here to see the widow Rittenhouse to ask her to help him get back her niece Gertrude or, failing that, to ask for the widow’s hand in marriage. She might believe he only thought he was in love with Gertrude when he just was seeing her in her niece. She is after all a very lonely old woman.

Tonight she isn’t alone. There are many cars in the driveway and even on the lawn. She is holding a party of some sort but Eridan doesn’t know the occasion. He wasn’t invited to this party but he has an idea of how to get in.

The ten foot tall iron gate has been flung open for the occasion so he doesn’t have to worry about that. The taxi driver still doesn’t drive up the driveway but leaves him on the sidewalk. Eridan walks past the unguarded gate and slowly makes his way up himself. He doesn’t go directly to the guarded door but makes his way around the house as if to case the joint. As he walks through a hedge path he knows well from his trysts with Gertrude, he hears a noise. Nervous that he’ll be caught as an intruder, he peers around a bush to see another intruder.

She is the young reporter girl Equius always carries around with him for some reason. She sits on a stone bench and the minute Eridan cautiously pokes his head around she lifts her head.

“Mr. Ampurra?” she says with no enthusiasm.

Eridan walks around the hedge.

“Yah, it’s me. What are you doin’?”

“I’m sitting on this stupid bench because I can’t get into the purrty even though it’s my job and I have a press badge on my coat. They said they’d never heard of _The Daily Fancier_!”

“This party has press coverage? What’s goin’ on?”

She stands up. “You don’t know? It’s a Welcoming Purrty for the grrreat Australian explorer Captain Jake “The Huss” Harley! He’s so keen! And his granddaughter Jade is also with him. She’s on every one of his adventures!”

“Huh, Australians.”

“But I can’t go and get their stories down for my paper even though I would be so much better than those other society repurrtors at understanding all their wilderness talk.”

“You may understand nature but you are the worst-dressed society reporter. What is with that ugly cloth coat? You’re supposed to wear furs to high-class events.”

She says primly, “I don’t wear furs because my best friend objects to them.”

“More like you can’t afford any.”

She sighs. “True. But this cloth coat is good enough and it keeps me warm, unlike your silly silk cape.”

“I’m hardy enough to take the cold. I’m German.”

She sits back down again.

“I’m so tired. It took me three hours to get to the station and ride the train and take a taxicub here. Uggghhh.”

“If I knew you were comin’ we could have split my cab here.”

“Did you take a taxicub all the way from Manhattan to Great Neck?”

Eridan huffs, “I’m not goin’ to take a common commuter train.”

“And you wonder why you’re always broke!”

“I won’t always be broke. I will take my place again in civilization!” he says as he waves his fist in the air.

“I don’t think you even have a place in the purrty.”

“I’m always welcome with Mrs. Rittenhouse. Let me just get this out…”

He takes his billfold out of his tuxedo jacket and looks through it until he takes out a small lavender card. He shows this to Nepeta.

“See, I have a personal calling card with a written invitation.”

“Oddly informal invitation…wait, this says June 3rd, not November 3rd!”

He pulls it back. “I can always smudge up the month. I’ll just show the card to the doorman and I’ll get it, even if I have to throw my weight around a little.”

“Why do you want to get into this purrty anyway? You didn’t even know about it until I just told you.”

“I want to see if I can be united again with my beloved, is that so wrong?”

“Mrs. Rittenhouse is your sweetheart now?”

“Ummm, hey, how about I help you get in too? You can be my guest and then you can see your adventure dame.”

“Really! That would be keen!” She pauses.  “Wait, why are you helping me out? What do you want from me?”

“I just want to be chivalrous to a friend of a friend. I can be chivalrous, I am nobility after all.”

She sighs. “Okay…”

“First, take off that press badge and that stupid blue cloche and I’ll take you in.”

She takes off her press badge and hat while he smudges up the personal card. They leave the garden arm-not-in-arm and go up to the front door where a big man in a tuxedo stands guard.

“Good evening, Mr. Ampora,” he says.

“Good evenin’ to you,” Eridan says he grabs Nepeta’s hand and tries to drag her past the guard as nonchalantly as he can in the hopes he can bypass the whole fake invitation thing. Unfortunately, the doorman puts his arm out and stops them.

The doorman’s voice is now rough when he say, “First, you need an invitation.”

Eridan steps back and Nepeta frees herself from his grip.

“Sorry, but I’m so used to droppin’ by at any time I forgot my invitation. Here, let me get it.”

He takes out the personal card and holds it out to the doorman. The doorman doesn’t take it or even look at it.

“That’s much smaller than the other invitations…” he says skeptically.

“Well, I didn’t get my invitation in the mail so Mrs. Rittenhouse gave me this personal card to make up for it when we bumped into each other.”

The doorman now takes the card and reads it. “I can’t read this. The 3rd of what?” he mutters.

“It’s supposed to be November. Our Mag doesn’t have the best of handwritin’ when she’s busy. She had a lot an plannin’ to do for this lovely party. But I have an invitation, so you should let us in.”

“Now, you might have an invitation, but what about her?”

“She’s my guest. Mrs. Rittenhouse said I could bring one, forgot to mention that.”

The doorman looks at Nepeta. “Hey, didn’t you try to sneak in earlier by claiming to be a reporter? Now you’re this guy’s guest?”

“I am a real repurrtor!” she yells, “And I’m his guest.”

“She is a good friend an a friend and a friend an mine is a friend an Mrs. Rittenhouse.”

“I don’t understand what you said in that accent but…” He looks past them and sees a line is forming. “Just go in.”

After Nepeta quickly gives her coat to another servant, she and Eridan enter into a large hall with a grand staircase in the center. Everyone is gathered around the staircase instead of in the wide-open rooms on either side. Before Nepeta can go into this crowd Eridan pulls at her shoulder.

“What?” she hisses as she turns around.

“We need to talk before you split on me, come with me.”

“O-kay.”

They move to an unoccupied corner in a side-room next to an ignored refreshment table.

“See,” he says, “There is another reason why I helped you out, besides an course being chivalrous. I need your help.”

“Help with what?” Nepeta asks cautiously.

“I need help gettin’ back into the good graces an the Weefster’s.”

“But I don’t know the Weefster’s very well.”

“But you know me. I’m a good friend an your best friend You can tell them I’m an good gentleman who’s never put the moves on you even though you are really temptin’.”

“You just did put the meowes on me now!”

“Well, I’ve never _seriously_ put the moves on yah. I’ve only flirted a tiny bit. You can tell everyone that.”

“I really don’t want to meow about you at all.”

“Lady, you’re a society reporter. You have to write about classy gents like me in your column.”

She sighs. “Okay, I suppaws.”

“I need you to tell the real story an what happened between me and the lovely Miss Gertrude. You see, I did not ruin her. She is still a virgin and her hymen is intact.”

“Uugh!”

 “There is no grossness around our little lover’s quarrel. Yes, it was merely a little lover’s quarrel over something so silly you’d laugh if you heard it.”

 “So, what was it over?”

“Oh, it’s not important, it would take too long to explain and it’s a private joke, vwa ha! So silly.”

She whispers, “I heard it was something really queer.”

“Queer? You probably heard that from Equ. He fuckin’ thinks everythin’ is queer, except for a man wearin’ his hair long, what the fuck is with that? No offense to our dear friend, an course.”

She says solemnly, “I’ve also heard from other people that Miss Gertrude has decided to become a nun.”

He rolls his eyes and throws his arms up at this. “A nun?! She’s a devout Lutheran! Lutherans don’t have nuns! We haven’t had nuns since Dr. Martin Luther took up with one!”

“Ughh, that’s a rude way of putting it! You aren’t making yourself sound better!”

“Well, it’s true. Katharina von Bora, June 13, 1525, look it up. Anyway, I doubt she converted from her family faith to the Roman one. She’s takin’ a retreat only to relax.”

“So, why are you coming here instead of going to her?”

“Because as lovely as my Tru is, I want to see Mag tonight about marriage.”

 “You know, it sounds like you plan to marry Margaret.”

He freezes and wonders which story he wants to feed the press: that he plans to marry Tru or that his love has turned to Mag. Even he realizes at this point he can’t be ambiguous.

“Gertrude. It’s Gertrude I want to marry, that’s it.”

“Hmmm.”

Nepeta takes out a pencil and notepad from her large purse and starts marking it. Eridan looks over at it.

“Are you drawin’ us? Why can’t you take a photograph of us instead of drawin’ me with that white cowlick? And come on, Tru isn’t that ugly.”

Nepeta’s drawing is interrupted by some excited sounds in the main hall. She puts her notebook back and goes into the hall while Eridan follows her. Everyone in the hall is looking up at the top of the steps at a distinguished elderly gentleman. His head is full of wavy snow-white hair and his face bears a large handlebar moustache. Despite his buck-teeth and his wrinkles he is a handsome man with sparkling green eyes under his rectangular wire frame glasses. He wears a green double-breasted coat with green jodhpurs and black boots and he looks very well-built. He strides down the stairs like a military officer as everyone claps. When he gets to the bottom of the steps he takes and kisses the hand of the hostess, who is wearing tonight a mauve gown that shows her vertical bosom. He then turns to a young woman Eridan doesn’t recognize and kisses her on the cheek. After greeting both of them he turns to the awed crowd. In a proud distinguished voice he says:

“Hello, I must be going.”

He is greeted by cries that he must stay stay stay from everyone. Even Eridan wants this guy to stay even though he didn’t know who he was thirty minutes ago. Yet the pleas from everyone are to no avail. He turns to the young woman, holds her hands and says something comforting to her before leaving through the crowd to the door. When he has left people turn to each other and chatter excitedly.

“Wow, he’s done it again! Such a performance of grace and manners!”

“Captain Jacob Harley is such a charismatic person!”

“Yes, everyone is just in love with ‘the Huss’!”

“I’d marry him if I were a woman!”

Eridan asks Nepeta, “Is Captain Harley a gentleman an wealth or does he just live in the jungle eating tigers?”

 “Oh yes, very wealthy, sheep and diamonds and stuff,” she says distractedly as she looks at the young woman Captain Harley kissed, “Oooh, look at Miss Jade Harley. That’s a really keen dress!”

Eridan now pays attention to Miss Jade since The Huss isn’t there anymore to distract him. She is tan and fit like her grandfather though she is on the short side. Like her grandfather she has buck teeth and glasses but she still looks very cute. She wears a daring shoulder-less black sheath dress, but she doesn’t look comfortable in it. Her black hair ends mid-back with a curve. Eridan like her looks but finds something odd about her.

“So she’s Captain Harley’s granddaughter?”

“Well, technically she’s his adoptive daughter. She’s an orphan, her missionary parents were killed in the Philippines.”

Eridan examines her light brown face. “Humph, ‘missionaries’, she looks like she’s an the Malay race. Too bad, I might have found her a catch otherwise.” He turns to Nepeta not noticing her scowl. “See, I’m not after _every_ eligible female an wealth. So, off to find our hostess.”

 He leaves to find her though this turns out to not be an easy task. She seems to have disappeared after her honored guest left. He wanders around to the side rooms that are now filled with people finally taking advantage of the refreshments and then back to the main hall without finding her. He wonders if he should dare to go upstairs when he hears a bubbly voice cry out to him.

“Hello, sir, I don’t think I know you!” she says.

He turns around to see a tall willowy long-haired blonde with blue-green eyes wearing a dark fuchsia dress and a gold tiara.

“I was invited, I’m a friend an Mrs. Rittenhouse’s niece,” he blurts out.

“Oh, I don’t knoll Mrs. Rittenhouse, but I’m a frond of Jade. My name is Feferi Peixes.”

“My name is Eridan Ampora, pleased to meet yah.” He wonders about that last name. It sounds oriental though he doesn’t feel like asking about it right now.

“I’m glad meet you too,” she says, “I’ve been overseas for so long and I need to get in touch with people back home.”

Eridan knows he should try and wrap up the conversation but he asks, “You went on a Grand Tour? What did you think of Germany?”

“Oh, I didn’t go on a tour of Europe.”

“Ach, that’s too bad. Germany is a cradle an civilization. Where did you go instead?”

“Actually, I was supposed to go to Europe, but I changed my mind and decided to go south to all the islands and jungles! In fact I met the Harley’s in Samoa.”

“Ahh, that was a German colony. Good enough.”

“Have you visited it yourshelf?”

“No, but I did spend some time in Zanzibar. Too short an time in my opinion.”

“Me too!” And they proceed to talk about the wildlife there and thankfully not about the native population.

Meanwhile, Nepeta tries to get in with Feferi’s ~~frond~~ friend Jade. Unfortunately, she is surrounded by newspaper men who don’t seem entirely interested in just getting a story out of her. Nepeta stalks her waiting for the perfect moment to ask her questions. Jade wanders around a lot as if to tire her pursuers. Finally she just asks their leave to go to the powder room. Despite the noise Nepeta can hear this and she wonders if she should follow. Before she makes up her mind she notices Eridan talking to blonde woman she recognizes from pictures.

Feferi says to Eridan, “It was nice meeting you. I need to see to the otter guest.”

Eridan catches a glimpse of someone who might be Mrs. Rittenhouse and then looks back at Feferi. “Pleasure is all mine. It’s good to have another ally in this city.”

She turns away and then turns back saying, “Oh glub, I almost forgot!” She reaches into the small clam-shaped clutch purse she keeps around her wrist and hands him a small card. “Here’s my personal card. Maybe we can get in touch some time? Bye!”

He takes it and puts it away as she flits away. Nepeta walks up beside him.

“Shoot,” she says, “You could have introduced me to her. She’s a very impurrtant purrson but she’s been away fur two years!”

“Important? I’ve never heard of her. Is she Australian? She has an weird way an pronouncin’ thin’s.”

“She’s the daughter of Mrs. Meenah Scratch.”

“That tall wife an short Dr. Scratch? They mated?”

“Sssshhh!” Nepeta hisses.

“Sorry,” Eridan whispers, “It’s just…she’s like two feet taller than him or somethin’. How do the positions even work?”

Nepeta sidesteps a little away from Eridan. “Actually, he’s just her stepfather. Her real father was Prince Andrei Andreyevich Peix, but he died when she was young.”

“A Russian noble?”

“Yeah, you could call her a princess, though princes and princesses in Russia were more like dukes and duchess and they call what we call prince and princess they call grand dukes and duchess. It’s weird but then Russia is weird.”

“I know how nobility works the world over, you don’t need to lecture me,” he sneers.

“But now she’s a Scratch even though she never uses her legal last name. Always goes by the femeowine version of her birth father’s purrname. Russians have male and femeowine versions of purrnames, which is also pretty screwy.”

Eridan rubs his chin. “Hmmm, Dr. Scratch, he’s a partner in the English & Scratch Law Firm, always goin’ around advisin’ the big people.”

“Yeah, and her mother is on the board of a ton of companies even though she’s a woman. They say she might be a billionairess!”

At that final revelation Eridan stumbles back and falls down on the stairs.

“Oh my glub. A beautiful billionaire heiress with noble blood and powerful parents just came up to me and invited me out.”

Nepeta stares off into the distance. “Oh no what have I meowed? Poor Furferi. She’ll never get rid of you.”

Eridan stands back up. “Don’t talk like that. I’m not goin’ to start chasin’ after another woman right now. I at least have to see what’s up with Mag. She is supposed to be my girlfriend.”

“Good luck on that.”

“Humph, don’t be so sarcastic, it’s so unladylike. Your boyfriend should teach you better.”

She rolls her eyes.

They then leave on their own missions. Eridan finally finds the elusive hostess as she laughs with another guest.

He says desperately, “Good evenin’, Mrs. Rittenhouse?”

She turns to him and her smile fades.

“How did you get in?” she asks.

“I used your callin’ card, the one you gave me once.”

“That is not an invitation.”

“Well, you once said I could come over any time I wanted? Right?”

“You are not welcome tonight.”

“But I needed to see you tonight! It’s about your niece!”

Mrs. Rittenhouse eyes widen but she calmly turns to her conversation partner.

“Excuse me, I must talk with this young man a moment.” She turns back to Eridan. “Come this way.”

She takes him up a less obvious staircase to a parlor off-limits from the guests. They walk in silence and only after shutting the door does she speak.

“What do you want with my niece?”

“The same thin’ I have always wanted from my beloved Tru – her hand in marriage. But she’s left me and I can’t get in touch with her. I need her back!”

“And why should you have her back?”

“Why? What? Why shouldn’t I? I’m a good gentleman! You know how wonderful I am!”

“Frankly, I have never found you to be much of a gentleman. You are just a rude and selfish gigolo.”

“What? I thought you loved me as a nephew!”

“I only tolerated you as a potential nephew-in-law. I wanted my lonely niece finally to have a husband. You were not the best husband material, but you made her very happy, so I decided to let you into our family. Now that you have made her unhappy, I see no reason to tolerate your presence anymore.”

“But I can make her happy again!”

“I already know how you thought you could make her happy that one night with your disgusting act,” she spits.

“She told you?”

“It took some time to get it out of her but I had to know how you made her unhappy. How could you think a decent woman would ever get pleasure out of that?”

He mumbles under his breath, “Well, she did have an orgasm.”

She continues, “You must have been after your own pleasure. I scarcely want to think about what you do with men!”

He explodes, “I am not a fuckin’ homosexual! Would put my face your niece’s womanhood if I were? And we also necked all the goddamn time, what about that?”

“GET YOUR GODDAMN FILTHY MOUTH OUT OF MY DAMN HOUSE!” she screams.

“I WILL!” he yells and stomps out of the room.

He immediately comes back and says to the now crying Mrs. Rittenhouse, “Umm, you haven’t told anyone else about what happened? I don’t want a reputation.”

“I barely want to tell it to myself,” she hisses.

“Oh, good, that’s a relief,” he says and shuts the door again.

Eridan feels strangely calm as he walks away. He knows he should be despondent his relationship with the spinster dame has now completely sunk and along with it the chance of financial stability.  Yet instead of thinking of Tru, he’s thinking about Fef. He takes out her card and looks at it for the first time. It’s green text of light pink paper and Eridan wonders where the hell she found the printer. What is more important is it lists a Manhattan address. How convenient. He quietly slips out of the house.

Down in a refreshment hall, Nepeta finds Jade alone at the punch bowl.

 “Miss Jade Harley?” she says, “May I introduce myself?”

Jade turns around slowly with a glass of punch in her hand. She sighs, “Okay.”

Nepeta now takes her press card out of her purse. “I’m Miss Nepeta Leijon of _The_ _Daily Fancier_ and I have some questions fur you.”

 Jade suddenly smiles. “ _Daily Fancier_? That sounds like an interesting magazine and it’s nice to meet a cute little girl reporter. Shoot!”

“Oh, goodie!” Nepeta takes out a notepad and paper. “Our readers are really interested in the parentage of…”

Jade explodes, “WHAT? MY PARENTAGE? WHAT AN ICKY QUESTION!”

 Nepeta mumbles, “But I meant the parentage of your dog Bequerel…”

 “You just want to write stupid dumb racist things! Why should it matter what race I am?”

“No, I’m interested in knowing Bequerel’s breed, not your’s, is he part wolf? Part dingo?”

“Dingo? Is that some new slur? Okay, then all you reporters are just like little ugly TROLLS!”

“Trolls?! That’s mean!”

“Well, you’re mean, dumpass!”

“I’m not being mean, I’ve been trying to talk about dogs you silly idiot! I’m not talking about your human mommy, I’m talking about Bequerel’s bitch…”

Jade throws her glass of punch at Nepeta. The gathered crowd gasps. Nepeta stares down at her dress and purse.

“That was my only evening gown…” she mumbles.

Then Nepeta revenge-pounces and a fight breaks out – a _cat_ fight you could say. Both are evenly matched. Just before Nepeta’s dress is ruined even more, Feferi steps in and pulls Jade away.

“No, stop it my frounds!!!” she cries.

“When did she become your friend?” Jade asks as she stops struggling in Feferi’s grip.

“Huh? I don’t know. I just heard she uses cat puns all the time and I think that’s neat. I like anyone who glubs in puns.”

Feferi lets go of Jade and looks at Nepeta.

“Hey, would you like to join our school? We could have fishy fun!!”

Nepeta is awestruck but she says, “Um, yeah!”

“Good! I’ll see if we can net up somefin for you to wear!”

Feferi turns to the crowd and says, “I don’t like reigning over anyone, but if you publish anyfin aboat this, I will spear you.” She smiles. “Sorry!!”

Everyone quickly runs away. Feferi takes Nepeta away while Jade gives the sigh of someone who knows their resentment is soon going to disappear despite themselves. She is after all a sweet girl who forgives easily. Plus Feferi is an unintentionally horrifying princess whose bubbly word is law.

Meanwhile, Eridan stands outside the gate.

He mutters to himself, “Fuck, I shouldn’t have planned on Mrs. Rittenhouse lendin’ me cab fare home. I could talk to Feferi but it’s too soon in our romantic relationship to ask for money.”

He sighs and puts out his thumb. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: awkward racial discussion:  
> It came to me that it might be interesting that since this is an AU where the Beta Kids aren’t related to each other, then possibly Jade and Jake aren’t related and I could get away with making Jade Asian (a.k.a. Mongoloid in that era) or another race found in the South Pacific while keeping Grandpa white to fit the Great White Hunter archetype he’s based on. I like Asian Jade since it fits with her motifs (her name, the Jade:Enter song) and I think not enough people make the Prospit Kids Asian. However, in the world this fanfic is set in non-white characters suffer many barriers, like effectively being barred from Australian citizenship. So I made Jade’s race and parentage ambiguous as a cop-out.
> 
> When Eridan says the Malay race, he isn’t referring just to the Malay ethnicity but every ethnicity in the South Asian archielagos according to then-scientific racial classifications.
> 
> I know Nepeta’s line about Jade’s “breed” is offensive but in her defense she was too upset to put it better.


	9. Nepeta: Try To Be A Vegetarian For One Afternoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Equius and Nepeta have lunch and catch up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: You know how Eridan is a bigot? So is Equius.

It isn’t easy to have a platonic cross-class relationship like Equius and Nepeta have. People often mistake them for lovers and cast aspersions on Nepeta because they think she’s gold-digger or a newshound. So Equius and Nepeta must be very careful to avoid the appearance of evil. She cannot hug or kiss Equius (in public, in private they cuddle all the time). He does not buy her any expensive gifts (well, not wearable ones) and they always split the restaurant bill (though not evenly).

For today’s outing they are eating lunch at the sort of moderately-priced restaurant Nepeta could afford on her own. However, she would never go here on her on since this is a vegetarian restaurant, called appropriately enough “Third Vegetarian Restaurant”. He dragged her here as part of his on-going attempt to make her a vegetarian. He has ordered for her and they are awaiting their food.

“…so I don’t think any of us are allowed back at Mrs. Rittenhouse’s house anymore,” Nepeta finishes.

Equius wipes his face. “Oh dear. That was very improper and I hope you know it. Hurting such a fine lady as Mrs. Margaret Rittenhouse!”

“But it was Miss Jade I hit, and she furgave me!”

“I am thankful to Miss Jade for that mercy but Mrs. Rittenhouse is still an injured party, since it was her party.”

“It was really the Harley’s purrty! If Grandfather Harley had stayed he probably would have set-up some impromptu naked oil wrestling in the kitchen!”

“N-naked oil wrestling?”

“Um, or just a plain ol’ boxing match? Yeah, that’s a better example. Let’s imagine that instead.”

“Yes, let’s. But it was Mrs. Rittenhouse’s house and she was the hostess, not Captain Harley or Miss Jade. She has a right to expect no violence from her guests.”

“Hmmph, you aren’t so good at refraining from violence when you’re a guest.”

“I have been improving. Remember, I did not break anything at the last house to which I was invited.”

“Your aunt’s birthday was a month ago! How about recently? Did you behave yourself when I left you alone at Café Skia?”

“Yes, I did behoove myself.”

“See? I knew you could keep your cool.”

“Actually, I did not feel very “cool”. You see, when you left, another person arrived who entranced me…”

“Gamzee again? What is with him?”

Equius continues, “No, not then, it was when a beautiful singer came up onto the stage...in a dress like metal…and she sung directly to me...songs of such sorrow.”

“Oooo…what was her name?”

“Blu Steele…”

“Huh, I never heard of her. Is she a new act?”

“I suppose so. She is from somewhere in the Northwest. I do not know her real name. I do know she is a member of the upper class. Her employers told me all this and I believe them since she does exhibit the class befitting such a background.”

“It sounds like you really like her.”

“I do not know her well enough to say that I like her. I cannot properly pass judgment on her until I sit her down for a conversation.”

“You can like someone even after only seeing them once!”

“I’m afraid to say…I have not seen her only once. I have seen her five times.”

“Five times? And it’s only been six days!”

“Yes, I know. It was quite expensive too.”

Nepeta mumbles to herself, “So many shows… especially for a mew-comer…she’s a hard worker.”

“I even attended on the Sabbath. I broke a Commandment!”

“You always break the Sabbath. I’m always finding you busy with work when Sunday comes around.”

“But that was always vital work which cannot be delayed. What I did was pointless…pleasure.”

“I think it’s okay,” she whispers, “Don’t tell my Mama, but I haven’t been going to Meetings.”

“I have broken another rule by…coveting her. When I think of her…” He wipes his forehead. “Oh, I cannot go on.”

“I get the idea. You’re in love!”

“I’m afraid it more approaches…lust. You wouldn’t understand lust being such a good girl.”

“Umm, yeah, that,” she mumbles and then says, “But don’t beat yourself up over a little ameowrous felines. It’s natural for a fellow to feel that way about a girl he fancies.”

“It may be natural but I’d prefer not to feel those feelings if I can.”

“But you can’t supurress your heart!”

“I channel those feelings into my work. That’s why Zahhak Industries is so successful.”

“Jeez, the way your business is going you must have a hundred litters of felines.”

“Odd analogy, but I thank you for the compliment.”

“Maybe you can channel those felines into your play too! Things don’t all have to be so serious.”

“I have made many attempts to play but they often end in breakage.”

“And you should make many more until you can do it safely! You didn’t break anything that night I brought you to Café Skia.”

“I’m afraid I may have broken…my heart.”

“Don’t talk like that! Nothing has broken! You should met her first. See if you can talk to her.”

“How can I talk to a common nightclub performer?”

“You can always wait till she’s off-work and buy her a drink?”

“I mean, how can I demean myself to talk with a common nightclub performer?”

“How can you still say stupid things like that, you jerk? I’m just a “common” news writer and you still talk to me!”

“Well, yes, that, but you work for a proper fixed salary. She obtains her money in…gratuities… bestowed by her audience. It’s a terrible arrangement.”

“Well, I assume the club is giving her meowney too and she isn’t just busking indoor, that really would be terrible. Anyway, she still is getting an honest living. Probably more honest than mine, actually, but you’re still friends with me.”

“I cannot say I fully-agree with your career, but I am not completely against a woman having a job, as long as it is a dignified one.”

She sighs. “Sometimes you have to take a job even when it isn’t purrfectly dignified. It is a depression after all.”

“Yes, her family has lost all their wealth, so I guess I can begrudge her this career choice. She could have obtain a job that was…far worse. Who knows what sort of job I might have to …degrade myself to…if I lost much more of my wealth.”

“So, it would be okay if you talked to her according to your silly snobby rules.”

“There are still the rules of proper introduction.”

“When were you purroperly introduced to me?”

“That was extenuating circumstances.”

“And so is falling in love! Come on, I talk to people unintroduced all the time! You can always get someone who works there to introduce you.”

“I shall request an introduction but I doubt it will work.”

She sighs. “I should have been there. I could have helped you out.”

“You had to attend to other matters. How is your animal companion doing?”

“Oh, Pounce is swell, it was nothing. It was silly of me to come home. Cats vomit all the time.”

“It still was a good idea to check. You should thank Miss Pyrope for her attentiveness.”

“Ah, so you’ve changed your mind about her? You think it’s okay she’s my landlady?”

“No, I don’t. She may be a good-enough lady but she is still colored. You should be with your own kind instead of in a colored neighborhood.”

“Why should it matter?”

“You are of the white race. White people should live separately from the coloreds.”

“It’s hard to live totally separate from other people when you live in a little bitty island. It would be too diffurcult moving someplace else at this time.”

“If it is really would difficult to move then I will allow you to stay. I do hope however you can soon move out of the slums.”

“I live in Sugar Hill. There are people there who are ten times richer than me.”

“It still is surrounded by slums. I also do not like you living near that Sollux Captor.”

“Sollux Captor? You’re nervous about him? He’s like a eunuch.”

“Do not say eunuch. I do not want to think of…gelding. “   

“I just mean he mostly stays to himself. Sits in his room, goes to work, and comes back home.”

“Doesn’t he have that Communist lady friend? Isn’t she always there?”

“Aradia Megido? I told you, she almost never comes to the house. She’s too far downtown. Sollux goes to meet her.”

“Is Sollux a Fellow Traveler?”

“A what?”

“Does he show support for the communists without being a member to their parties?”

“No, I haven’t heard him rant about politics. Mostly he just rants about technology.”

“You could then learn something from him. You should know more about technology.”

“I don’t know…he goes into some pretty advanced future stuff.”

“I will have to meet this tenant…and any future inhabitants to your house from now on.”

“Actually, there is a new one I furgot to tell you about.”

“What?”

“He came two weeks ago.”

“He? Two weeks ago?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you then. We got off-track talking about one of your horses giving birth and Sherri at the newspaper leaving to get married and I never got around to it and…I didn’t really want to talk about it.”

“Why not?”

“I knew you’d make a big deal about it because…he was a hobo.”

“That is a big deal. A vagrant living under the same roof as you!”

“Well, he’s not a vagrant anymore. Miss Pyrope gave him a job.”

“Why would she do that?”

“I guess she’s just being nice. And she wanted a cheap maid.”

“A MAN as a maid?”

“His job title is handyman, but really he just cleans up the place.”

“If that’s his job title, what is his name?”

“His name is Karkat Vantas. I think the name is kind of cute, don’t you?”

“If that is his real name. Those type of people often lie. What race is he?”

She sighs. “Don’t worry, he’s white.”

“How is he like?”

“He’s really grumpy and he complains a lot and he swears too much, but he’s polite sometimes in his own queer way. He’s very cautious around females, never on the make.”

“Good. I don’t like men who are…flirtatious…like Ampora…I’m glad you didn’t spend more time with Ampora than you needed.”

“Me too. I don’t know why you end up spending so much time with him.”

He sighs. “I wonder that too.”

At that time Nepeta’s meal arrives. On her plate, along with steamed vegetables, is a brown slab. She stares at it.

“What is this?!” she says.

“If you had listened to me order, you would know it was Vegmeatoid©.”

“I know that. But what the hell is Veg-whatever??”

“Language, Nepeta! Vegmeatoid© is the new scientific protein for those who absent from meat protein. The scientific mixture is made from nuts, beans, lentils, soy, and other various vegetable proteins.”

“Have you ever had it?”

“No, it just came out, but I have faith in such a STRONG mixture of protein.”

“Okay, I’ll try it for you.”

She cautiously takes a bite, chews it curiously, and then shallows. She looks stunned.

“How was it? Did it live up to my expectations?”

“That was…” she says, “THE WORST THING I HAVE EVER EATEN…AND I HAVE EATEN LITERAL CROW!”

“Oh dear, your taste buds are not yet used to…wait, you’ve tasted crow meat before? As in the bird?”

“It was an accident! I mean, I accidentally killed a crow with my BB gun and I decided as long as it was dead I might as well eat it. I had heard the saying before about crow but I thought maybe people were wrong but it was true. I was a stupid kid!”

“Did you at least cook the meat properly?”

“I wasn’t that stupid. I did cook it…a little…probably not very well when I think about it. I got really sick later.”

“You had a dangerous childhood in the wilderness.”

“But it was a fun one! Boy, sometimes I miss the wilderness, but the city can be fun too!”

“The city can be so…unwholesome. Rural living is the best.”

“You say stuff about liking nature but I’ve never seen you go out into the woods. We need to go hiking some time. Wouldn’t that be great?”

At this time, Equius’ meal arrives. Nepeta stares at it.

“What’s that?” she asks.

“Eggplant parmesan.”

Nepeta scowls. “You mean you aren’t going to try this stupid meatoid stuff with me?

“Ummm, during these stressful times, I didn’t want to tax my digestion with something unfamiliar, and I have enjoyed this dish here already many times.”

“Why didn’t you let me enjoy it too?”

“I’ll note that you like eggplant parmesan.”

“No, I hate eggplant! It’s just the purrinciple of the thing.”

“I just thought you would enjoy something that was like meat.”

“I would like something that’s like meat…mainly MEAT!”

“Quiet yourself Nepeta. I will try your Vegmeatoid©. It cannot be as bad as you claim.”

He reaches his fork over to her plate and takes some. After eating, he grunts and takes a big drink of milk.

When he’s done, he says, “Yes. I will let you order something new.”

He soon gets the waiter’s attention and the waiter brings Nepeta a new menu. She quickly chooses at random the navy bean soup. The waiter clears her plate and goes off to get the new order. With only one of them having food, Equius feels awkward eating but Nepeta tells him it’s okay. They have a comfortable silence for two minutes before Nepeta speaks again.

“You know, I was thinking about this Blu Steele girl and it got me to thinking…”

“Yes?”

“It’s just that…we haven’t really laid out any ground rules about what things you say that I can report.”

“Yes, we should have laid those rules out long ago. I don’t why we haven’t.”

“It’s because you never have any gossip to repurrt because you don’t have any other furriends to tell you some. But now you’ve uncovered something big.”

“You mean about Blu Steele…”

“Yes! Don’t you think it’s super-keen that Café Skia has as their headline act a woman with a mysterious past?”

“And that past should remain a mystery. She is supposed to be incognito to spare her family.”

“Come on, it’s still a mystery if we don’t know her real name or anything else. Who will be able to guess who she is just by knowing she used to be rich?”

“They might also guess from her family’s location in the Northwest.”

 “The Northwest is HUGE, I know! No one will guess.”

“I still think it’s best for her sake we impart no information.”

“Actually, I think this will help her! Other people will think she sounds super-keen when we tell them and they’ll go and see her show and she’ll get lots of meowney!”

“Will people go to see her only because of that? I think her extraordinary talent is more than enough draw.”

“Oh, I trust that she is talented, but you need something else sometimes. You need a good story. People like good stories!”

“It is a sad story.”

“People like sad stories too! Even in a really big depression! We’re weird that way.”

“Only some people are.”

“Admit it, if you hadn’t been lucky enough to have me as a furriend to drag you to Café Skia, wouldn’t you have gone there yourself after reading about her being a mysterious society girl?”

“Would you exist in this hypothetical universe?”

“Yes, of course, that’s how you would find out, BECAUSE you read it in my column. It’s just we would have never met person-to-person.”

“But if we weren’t in contact with each other, how would you have found out what I learned.”

“Obviously, the employers could have told me? Instead of you?”

“But they did not.”

“Only beclaws I didn’t get the chance! In this hypothetical universe, I did stay long enough to see her and ask after her.”

“So it’s because of our friendship that your animal companion got ill?”

“Silly, it had nothing to do with our furriendship! Don’t be offended.”

“So there are two completely different conditions to this hypothetical universe: Pounce de Leon didn’t get sick on October 28, 1933 and that we have never met.”

“Yes, those are the rules. Stop being so metaphysical or whatever you’re doing like your Mister Old Zahhak and answer my question!”

“You mean would I spend $10 in an unsavory place to perchance meet such an excellent girl based on your cat puns and metaphors?”

 “Yes, with my purrfect puns, would you do it?”

“…Yes, I would.”

“See, and other people will too if even someone like you would take the chance.”

“Then you shall advertise…for her sake.”

“Swell! You can help me out,” she says as she goes and gets her notebook, “Tell me what she looks like.”

He looks off into his memories.

“She stands five foot eight in heels…has black hair that comes down approximately one foot down from her shoulders…parts her hair in the middle with two strands coming down her face…hair curls up at the ends…wears a domino mask…broad mouth with even amounts of upper and lower lip…average nose…eye color not yet determined…waist measurements twenty-eight inches and um, the chest is thirty-eight…”

“What? How do you know her meowserments if you aren’t ‘acquainted enough’ with her?”

“Estimating size is one of my talents as an engineer.”

“I know but…you sure must have be staring at her A LOT.”

“Only estimates…I’m afraid the cut of her dress makes it hard to estimate her hip size.”

“I don’t think I need all her meowserments and all that other stuff. I can just say she’s a tall, busty girl with long black hair. That’s good enough.”

“But you must not forget her attire.”

“She’s also has something keen with her clothes? Tell me!”

“Her dress is made with an interesting metallic fabric. I do not know enough about the fabric industry to say what it is, but it is beautiful.” He looks over at her notebook. “Do you want I should draw it for you?”

“Actually,” Nepeta says as she puts away the notebook, “I should go see her myself in purrson. Thanks for your description. Hey, maybe I should see if I can put in a good word for you.”

He breaks out into a great sweat. “NO! Absolutely not. I forbid it.”

She puts her hands up. “Jeez, okay, I won’t. I’ll leave it up to you to talk to her.”

He wipes his face and calms down. “That is better. It is my duty to do this.”

“As long as you do it, I’ll be fine.”

Nepeta’s soup arrives then. She tastes it and finds it satisfactory though she secretly wishes it had bacon. The both of them eat with only a few remarks. When she is done, she puts down her spoon and gives a faraway look.

“You know…,” she says softly, “About people you’ve just met…sometimes you met someone and…you feel something…even though you shouldn’t…”

“…what? Nepeta…?”

She snorts, “Oh, it’s nothing. Hey, I’m going to get a hamburger after this meal!”

“Nepeta! You will do no such thing. Not after the money and effort I have put into this afternoon. You should at least abstain until the appropriate time for dinner.”

“Just kidding. I’m fine, as long as I can get some dessert to fill me up. Can we get dessert? Can we?”

“Certainly. This place has an exquisite rice pudding.”

“I hope you don’t order that for me.”

“They have a cake made with earl grey and lemon that you will enjoy.”

She cocks her head. “That’s actually sounds good. Thanks for the recommendation.”

“I am a good guide for you.”

“More like I’m a good guide for you. Look at you, out having a nice lunch with someone instead of curled over a desk with an ignored sandwich on a plate somewhere getting mold.”

“And where would you be spending your lunch hour if not for me? At a greasy hamburger stand? This is better for you.”

“Ha, I don’t even like hamburger that much! They aren’t really even meat. They’re like some sort of…bread meat. But I liked going out for hamburgers with Miss Jade, and Miss Feferi. It’s nice having all sorts of furriends, but you’re my favorite FUREVER.”

Equius gives a rare smile. “You are my favorite too. Forever.”

And then came dessert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No offense to vegetarians. I’m a vegetarian too, but not all meat substitutes are good. Besides, it’s Nepeta. She would never be happy with any meat substitute.


	10. Call for Betas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not a real update but a plea

I am planning on restarting this fanfic. I've changed the setting from the late 1933 to the early 1934 and I'll be making other changes. However, I need betas. I'd like to have at least two: one who knows my entire plan and another who doesn't. I especially need fact-checkers and advice for the following subjects.

  * the Great Depression
  * New York
  * jazz and blues music
  * fashion
  * World War I
  * Disabilities
  * Oklahoma
  * New Mexico
  * Montana
  * Australia
  * Charismatic Christianity
  * Germany and German culture (especially German poetry)
  * Russia and Russian culture
  * French language
  * African-American culture
  * Jewish culture and Yiddish
  * Chicano culture
  * Cherokee culture (spoiler! sorry)



Of course, I'll also need basic spelling and grammar checks.

 

Sorry for this very fanfiction.net update but I'm really having problems finding betas.

**Author's Note:**

> Go to the[DepressionStuck tumblr blog](http://www.depressionstuckfic.tumblr.com) for answers to your questions and other extras.


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